


A Slip of the Chromosome

by NoseHats (Ahatmadeofcheese)



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Clone Trooper Culture (Star Wars), Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Military, POV Multiple, Science, Training, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:35:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26049628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahatmadeofcheese/pseuds/NoseHats
Summary: On the water world of Kamino, thousands of Clone Troopers are born, trained, and graduated every day. Odds are someone was going to fuck things up eventually!
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. An Underpaid Intern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How exactly was our batch of ladies created? Why did the Kaminoans let them exist?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is some crack that kind of popped into my head. Writing style is gonna be totally different than anything I’ve done before. This is a concept that has been written before but mostly for porny purposes. I’m going to give it a go, making it decidedly less porny.
> 
> Disclaimer: I have a high-school level of understanding of biology and cloning. This is my interpretation and by no means an attempt to be accurate. I’m 89% sure that the Kaminoans produced exact clones of Jango by duplicating his DNA but that’s not how we’re doing it in my story.

Zo Sur doesn’t get paid enough for this. The young Kaminoan is getting less than a thousand credits for spending the entire summer here. Honestly, she thought it would be worth it for the experience. How’s a girl supposed to get into the Kamino Academy of Medical Sciences without at least 15 hours of hands-on experience and a letter of recommendation? _Extracurriculars, that’s how._ She barely contains her eyeroll. _It’s not my fault people like stupid I-partook-in-science-club-and-mathematics-club-and-talking-to-people-club-look-at-me-how-brilliant-Kayh-Walhou also want to join the program._

She squirts a blob of nutrient rich gel onto the plate and situates it under her microscope. _I don’t even look hot in this lab coat. Kayh Walhou looks hot in the lab coat. It makes her neck look sooo straight and long and her eyes sooo purple. My eyes are purple, too, and yet you don’t see me dancing the_ Nahra _with a male hanging onto my every expression._ Now she picks up a micro-syringe and suctions up some of the artificial ova derived from the donor cells. _Of course, I have more important things to worry about than dancing the Nahra. I’m going to be a doctor! Everyone knows Kayh Walhou is only going for an MRS degree._ The cells are transferred onto the plate and into the gel.

Now comes the tricky part. In the field of the microscope she can see the little specks of gamete. The next task is to add in some of the donor’s cells. Before she began screwing around with the ova she used the special machine that sorts the sperm cells by X and Y chromosomes. All the clones are supposed to be male. Zo is reaching for the carefully labeled tube when suddenly, the door opens behind her.

”Excuse me!” she says flatly, “This room is a sterile environment and proper procedure must be followed! I am extremely busy here and- Oh. It is you, Emuk.” The serene expression does not slide from her face for an instant, though she supposes that doesn’t matter due to the obstructive face-mask she must wear for this particular procedure. _Emuk. He has the most beautiful green head-fins and palest skin I’ve ever seen. Don’t just stare at him like an idiot, act like you’re doing something important._ She seizes the small tube and studies it closely. (She was really checking her reflection, but he didn’t need to know that.)

”Hello, Zo. I have completed my shift in Lab 9 and I came to invite you to join me for lunch.” _He’s asking me out to lunch! Oh! Wow! Act calm. Males don’t like girls who wear their hearts on their sleeves._ She nods to him.

”That sounds acceptable. I am afraid I am still working but I only have one more batch to finish up.” He nods, gesturing to the counter and its cluster of complicated equipment.

”Take all the time you need.” _He’s asking me out!_ After Emuk leaves, white doors closing behind him, she quickly sits back down and cracks open the tube of sperm cells, grabbing a fresh pipette and quickly adding them to the plate. _Ha! Even Kayh Walhou hasn’t drawn the attention of Emuk fucking He! Wait till she sees us walking past her station! Together!_ After the ova are fertilized she pulls over a rack of specimen containers and places the fertilized eggs into individual tubes. Each tube is only a few inches long and contains more of the nutrient rich gel. The rack goes into an incu-chamber. She repeats this process until the batch has reached the standard 100 members.

Six days from now an inspector will check them out, then clear the blastocysts for transplantation into artificial wombs. Zo doesn’t care about that though. Nor will she care when, in six days time, when her lunches with Emuk have become regular, that the blastocysts get lost in bureaucracy and passed on without an inspection. It will be a blip on her radar when, at seven weeks, Batch No. 20979 is cleared (incorrectly) by Kayh Walhou as developing normally while she an Emuk have a dinner date. It’s not until six months later that a senior scientist notices that the 20979s are developing primary sexual characteristics inappropriate for their gender and age. Closer inspection reveals that they are, in fact, perfect in every way. Their sexual characteristics are completely appropriate for their gender and age. It’s their gender that’s the problem.

Because while she was caught up in Kayh Walhou and Emuk He, Zo Sur grabbed the tube of spermed marked ‘X’.

* * *

MINUTES FROM **MEETING TO DISCUSS THE FUTURE OF BATCH NUMBER 20979**

THE THIRTEENTH DAY OF THE SEVENTH MONTH OF THE STANDARD GALACTIC GALATIC YEAR

TRANSCRIPTION BY: Dozan Mifo

BEFORE THE MEETING BEGINS ATTENDANCE IS TAKEN. PRESENT ARE: **Prime Minister Lama Su, Administrative Assistant Taun We, Chief Medical Scientist Nala Se, Senior Genetic Scientists Cia Ne, Klam Ha, and Voduc Brahno, Genetic Donor and Chief Training Consultant Jango Fett, and Interns Zo Sor and Kayh Walhou**

MEETING CALLED INTO SESSION AT **13:06 STANDARD GALACTIC TIME**

 **PRIME MINISTER LAMA SU:** Thank all of you for attending. Doctor Ha has made an important discovery that he believes should be discussed immediately. 

**GENETIC DONOR AND CHEIF TRAINING CONSULTANT JANGO FETT:** If this is about your cloning procedures I don’t think it’s necesary for me to be here. HE STANDS TO LEAVE.

 **DOCTOR KLAM HA:** No, I think you should hear this, Fett. FETT GIVES A LOUD SIGH, THEN RETURNS TO HIS SEAT.

 **HA:** Thank you. It has come to our attention that a specific batch of clones, Batch No. 20979 has hit a slight issue in their development. You see, at day six they were transferred to the artificial wombs as all clones are. However we have been unable to find their inspection documents, signed or otherwise. They passed their week seven inspection, an inspection designed to watch for this very *SLIGHT PAUSE* situation. There _were_ inspection documents for this milestone, signed by Intern Walhou. 

**INTERN KAYH WALHOU:** Are you implying that I incorrectly identified the hormones being produced during my scan of the embryos?

 **HA:** I am implying that they were incorrectly identified as developing appropriately during their seven week scan.

 **FETT:** I’m lost here. What’s the problem? If the batch goes bad you dump them, right? Why are we having a whole meeting about it?

 **DOCTOR CIA NE:** The problem is this, Mr. Fett. During our six month inspection of the fetuses, Doctor Ha noticed that they were developing the incorrect genitalia for their age and gender. SILENCE FOR A FULL MINUTE.

 **FETT:** So... there’s a batch of girls?

 **NE:** That is exactly the problem. Closer inspection reveals that Batch 20979 are genetically female, which means that this started at the earliest level of development. MORE SILENCE.

 **HA:** This meeting serves a few purposes. One, to chastise the interns who allowed this mistake to come to fruition. Two, to discuss how we will proceed. INTERNS WALHOU AND ZO SOR LOOK AT EACHOTHER AND THEN AT THE FLOOR.

 **INTERN WALHOU:** I accept my part in missing the incorrect chromosomes, but it is not my fault that they were created.

 **NE:** We understand that, Miss Walhou. You have been appropriately chastised, I believe. You may return to your duties but be more careful in the future. A senior scientist will be supervising you. WALHOU EXITS THE MEETING ROOM AT **13:10 SGT.** Now, as for Miss Sor, it was you who was working in Lab 2 on the day of Batch 20979’s creation. Therefore it is only logical that you were the one who created them. INTERN SOR LOOKS AT THE GROUND.

 **SOR:** I apologize. I must have used the incorrect tube of sperm when fertilizing the eggs, resulting in the current predicament. The responsibility for this mistake is on me.

 **NE:** No one is perfect, Miss Sor, but this is quite the accident. I do, however, propose a solution to both problems.

 **CHEIF MEDICAL SCIENTIST NALA SE:** I see one solution. Terminate Batch 20979 and terminate Miss Sor’s employment with our lab. We cannot allow a mistake batch like this to make it through our program. It would be putting a sub-par product our into the galaxy.

 **HA:** On the contrary, Chief, other than being female these fetuses are showing excellent development. All hundred blastocysts survived early development, and none of them have any other issues. I see no reason why we cannot simply raise them as normal soldiers. 

**SE:** Becuase, doctor, females will require an entirely different plan of growth, perhaps different training styles, need I mention the fact that human females will eventually menstruate. It is quite a lot of extra work for practically no reason.

 **NE:** That is where my solution comes in. We train and raise these female troopers and compare them to their male counterparts. The research on how different genders are affected by the same stimulus alone could prove invaluable. I propose that Miss Sor be responsible for the study, and made a paid research assistant.

 **SE:** Nonsense! She makes an error and we promote her? And raising 100 female clones for the purpose of research? I do not like it. I will not stand for it.

 **SU:** I agree with Doctor Ne. This information could be worth quite a bit. Perhaps we might find that female troopers are superior in the long run? I urge you to consider her proposal.

 **HA:** I agree with her as well. Doctor Brahno? Mr. Fett?

 **DOCTOR VODUC BRAHNO:** I must stand with the Chief. It’s simply too uncertain for my tastes.

 **FETT:** I’m undecided. Where I’m from both men and women fight, but all this talk about research is beyond me.

 **HA:** I propose a vote. All in favor of Doctor Se’s proposal say ‘Aye’, all opposed say ‘Nay’. A CHORUS OF AYES AND NAYS. Miss Sor and Mr. Fett may vote, too, if they so wish.

A RECORD OF THE VOTES:

‘AYE’

Doctors Ha and Ne, Prime Minister Su, Intern Sor, Donor and Chief Training Consultant Jango Fett

‘NAY’

Chief Medical Scientist Se, Doctor Brahno

 **SE:** I suppose I am outvoted. Very well. Intern Sor will be promoted to research assistant and Batch 20979 will be raised to maturity. If that’s all, I’d like to return to my study. I have much business to tend to. 

MOTION TO ADJOURN BY **CHIEF MEDICAL SCIENTIST NALA SE** , SECONDED BY **DONOR AND CHIEF TRAINING CONSULTANT JANGO FETT**

MEETING ADJOURED **13:58** , THIRTEENTH DAY OF THE SEVENTH MONTH OF THE STANDARD GALACTIC YEAR.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in next week to find out what happened to Batch 20979!


	2. Sisters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We witness a training exercise for one squad of Batch 20979.

“Missy! Duck!” It’s the final round of simulation training for their squad. If all the girls make it, they will have officially what no man has done before. Literally.

Missy drops low and rolls behind a baracade. She’s not one for taking orders but one disastrous training excercise three years ago proved that when _Sap_ starts yelling, you better listen. Or else get knocked off your feet by a stun round. Sure enough the bright bolt flies right where Missy’s head was mere seconds ago. 

“Thanks, Sap!” she calls, “That was a close one. If that was a real bolt I’d be-”

“Cut the chatter, Mis. Focus on the task at hand.” The crackling voice of Oh-One carries her signature tone of disapproval, even over the coms. And she does, grudgingly. Oh-One is also on the list of people who don’t say much that’s unimportant. The squad is crouched behind four separate barriers, all around the same level. Their goal is to ‘escort’ a ‘politician’ (really just a dressed up protocol droid) across the room. Nibs has the droid behind a barrier with her. Battle droids stand on platforms and shoot at them from above, mainly B1s with a few Supers in the mix. There’s also a sound that is suspiciously similar to the chirp of a droideka, but no one has seen it. The sim-room is sixty feet long, with randomly spaced hiding spots. Some of them are high, some short. There’s a door at the other end guarded by a nest gunner. Their goal. 

Oh-One holds her hand out flat, palm facing down, fingers wide, then takes two fingers and covers one of her eyes. _Fan out, two cover_. Then she says over the coms, 

“Missy, Sap.” Though she hasn’t expanded on what she wants exactly, her meaning is clear. Missy hoists her blaster into a better firing position and pops up, laying down some cover fire. To her far right, Sap does the same. Nibs, Oh-One, and the protocol droid run forward while the B1s target Sap and Missy. They take out the droid they can reach before advancing to the next barricade. Oh-One and Nibs have made it two barricades ahead, but they’ve run out of cover range. 

“Droideka!” Nibs’s yell echoes over the coms. Missy rolls her eyes and moves forward, clearing the B1s that she can reach.

“You don’t have to scream, you’re literally right in our ears.” There’s an annoyed huff from the other end of the coms.

“Shut up, you two. Sap, get on the ‘deka, Missy, come get the proto. Try and get it to the nest; I’ll cover you.” Missy rolls her eyes. _What if I don’t want to babysit the stupid droid?_ Still. Oh-One’s the leader in their squad, no doubt about it. Nibs can cook, Sap can give you a list of all the edible plants on a given planet, and Missy herself can make up good plans when given thinking time. But on the battlefield they trust in Oh-One. 

A few tense moments of running and she’s made it to where Nibs crouches behind a barricade. She’s got the heavy blaster this run, a blaster she has the muscles to lift. The protocol droid wears a piece of outrageously orange cloth draped over its lightweight carapace. Mercifully, the instructors seem to have limited its speech function for the duration of the assignment. Still, Missy can’t resist a little screwing around.

“You’re coming with me, Senator Clanker.” She gives the droid a little mock bow. Nibs elbows her in the side.

”There’s a whole-ass droideka right over this wall! Sap’s doing her best but they didn’t give us any poppers. We don’t have time to play with the droid.” Missy rolls her eyes, grabbing one of the droid’s arms. It rises to its feet and begins a slow lurching run. Behind her the droideka begins firing rapidly at her back. _Okay, maybe Nibs was right._ Oh-One’s suppression fire seems to draw it off and as she nears the last barricade Missy is feeling pretty confident.

“Sap is down! Sap is down!” _Shit_. Missy turns around to find Oh-One, but she’s too far up to see her. A long sigh crackles over the com. 

“Missy, do you think you can get Senator Clanker through without us?” She eyes the droid’s nest critically. A pair of B2 Supers are aiming it at some point behind her. A small group of perhaps five B1s stand at the base of the nest. It’ll be difficult to get the B1s down, but doable. There’s no telling about the B2s, though. Those things can eat twelve bolts for breakfast and ask for more. There’s not really an option.

“I can try.” A frown crosses her face, hidden behind the mask. “But I can’t leave you guys behind.” 

“Take down as many as you can. Nibs and I have Sap, we’ll support you when we get there.”

“And the droideka?” There’s a hint of fear in her voice, a hint that Missy hates.

“Droi-dead-ka.” Nibs responds before Oh-One can. Now she smiles. Nibs is a pain in the ass, but she’s a clever pain in the ass.

“Got it, Oh-One.” She pushes the senator droid down and props her blaster atop the barrier. Two of the B1s are down before they can react, and after a tense skirmish the other three quickly follow. Unfortunately this draws the attention of the B2s. Heavy gunfire rains down on the short wall she’s crouched behind. A bolt almost hits Senator Clanker in the foot and the droid gives her a look that’s almost reproachful. Suddenly the wall shudders. Apparently the thing isn't designed to withstand continuous blaster fire. 

Suddenly one of the B2s goes flying backwards. Missy whips her head around to see Nibs aiming for the second one. The droids fire turns on her and she ducks back down. Though she can’t see it, Missy knows what’s going to happen. She’ll toss the rifle to Oh-One, who’ll take out the last B2. Then they’ll get through the stupid door with Senator Clanker and be done with it all. Sap’ll be pissed that she got knocked out by a droideka, but everyone should pass. 

Unsurprisingly, everything turns out exactly like that. Oh-One’s aim is true and the last stun bolt runs into the wall, the triggers for the gun left unattended. They approach the nest, Missy escorting the senator and Oh-One carrying Sap thrown over her shoulder. Nibs climbs up first, then Missy passes her the senator. She climbs up afterwards and both of them pull up Sap. Oh-One brings up the rear, keeping an eye out for any battle droids they might’ve missed. Nibs punches a button on the door’s control panels and they walk out into the observation room.

Arrayed before the control panel are four figures, four of the one hundred and three names that Missy knows. The tall, pale skinned Kaminoan wearing a delicate ring on her middle finger is Instructor Zo Tor, the reason for their creation. She’s always been a little more attached to them than the other scientists, probably because of her hand in the creation of Batch No. 20979. Beside her is the Jedi master Shaak Ti, a brightly colored Togruta. Sitting in the chair is a bounty hunter, the long-haired woman who taught the girls how to fight with their fists. Her name is Tsikala. The fourth figure is another Kaminoan who Missy has seen but rarely. The Cheif Medical Scientist of Kamino, Nala Se. 

Though no one has ever told Batch 20979 that they’re any different from the other clones (at least, not to their faces), they’ve managed to pick it up over the years. For one thing, they are the only females. As they grew every piece of clothing and equipment they received was designed for males, something that wasn’t a huge deal at first. Then as certain parts of their anatomy grew in and their armor began to pinch they had to switch over to brand-new sets made specifically for them. Around the same time all the girls began to take a pill every morning. Instructor Zor explained that these were ‘contraceptive pills’ designed to prevent the FTs from having ‘menstrual periods’ or becoming pregnant. Missy had a pretty good idea of what the latter entailed, but the former required a short explanation from Oh-One (she didn’t really pay attention in basic-bio training, either) before the details really settled in.

And then there was Nala Se. Jigs had gotten it off of another clone that Nala hated the ‘sisters’, as they were apt to calling each other, because they were a complete accident. A blip in the system. The other clones were a mystery to the 20979s because after the age of two and a half or so they had seen very little of them. They didn’t see much of Nala, and when they did she always looked miffed about something (though the Kaminoans had very little variation in their expressions the clones were good at reading people), so they decided that it must be true.

Now they stood in front of her, the protocol droid still draped in the ridiculous fabric, Sap hanging over Oh-One’s shoulder. Instructor Zor waved a hand at them.

“This is the most accomplished squad. As you can see we saved them for last. They have completed the course in record time.” The tiniest bit of a frown wrinkle appeared by Nala’s mouth.

“You call them accomplished. Yet one of their comrades was dispatched by a droideka.” Instructor Zor blinks slowly at the older woman.

“And they still completed the mission, recusing the fallen trooper in the process.” Master Shaak Ti speaks up, “These girls are very impressive. All twenty-five squads we’ve seen today are. I would say they’re ready for assignment.” The micro-frown crosses Nala’s face once again.

“Very well.” She sweeps gracefully from the room, moving as only a Kaminoan can. Tsikala is shaking her graying head.

“You girls did good. Pasty long-neck over there don’t know what she’s talking about.” Oh-One flushes lightly, removing her helmet.

“She’s right, though. Sap still took a hit.” Zor blinks slowly at her, but it carries an energy far different to the one she directed at Nala. 

“FT-0137 received a shot to the shoulder. In a real battle I have no doubt she would have kept moving.” A rare semi-smile hits the instructor’s face. “At first I was not sure training female troopers was a good idea. Now, I see that that thought was a mistake. I am proud of your progress. You will do well.” The girls glance at each other. High praise from a Kaminoan. They are dismissed from the room, Sap rousing shortly after. As they hit the showers, peeling off the black body gloves they wear under their training armor, The mood is triumphant.

“The next time we suit up, it’ll be Republic white!” Missy crows, scrubbing down. Nibs rolls her eyes.

“The next time we suit up the droids will be shooting actual bolts.”


	3. Marching Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sisters recieve word of their assignment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I consider myself a pretty big Star Wars nerd (I can speak a little Mando’a, Recite the Jedi Code, tell you the year in ABY/BBY when a movie took place, other random trivia) but unfortunately I’m not a ‘War Nerd’. I’m not entirely certain exactly how the Clone Army functions, nor am I sure what planets had battles and when. 
> 
> I mean, it’s a crack fic so you can’t expect too much logic but I apologize for any discrepancies.

> MARCHING ORDERS FOR **SQUAD 7**
> 
> AT **0600 SGT** **TOMORROW** YOU ARE TO REPORT TO **EQUIPMENT HALL 201** BEFORE ARRIVING AT **HANGER BAY 12** TO **BOARD SHUTTLE 897** FOR TRANSPORTATION TO YOUR ASSIGNMENT. 
> 
> **SHUTTLE 897** WILL DEPART AT **0715 SGT.** IF YOU ARE NOT ON IT THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES AS OUTLINED ON PAGE 457 SECTION 1.3758 OF THE GAR GUIDELINES. 
> 
> ORDERS APPROVED BY
> 
> _Zo Tor-He,_ HEAD INSTRUCTOR OF BATCH NO. 20979 AND CHEIF RESEARCH ASSISTANT

Oh-One inspects the official looking document. It’s printed on a piece of filmsi, and looks like it would fall apart if a drop of water hit it. 

“Hey, Sap” she calls, “You like memorizing things. Can you remember this?” Sap pokes her head over the edge of her pod-bunk. She grabs the filmsi and inspects it, her eyes going wide. 

“Marching orders? We’re leaving tomorrow?” A grin spreads over her face. “Never thought we’d actually make it. I can remember this.” She studies the paper a few more times, silently mouthing the words, then passes it back to Oh-One. A twist of apprehension runs through her gut. _The next time we suit up the droids will be shooting actual bolts._ Nibs is right, as always.

“Did someone say marching orders? Lemme see!” Missy reaches down and plucks the filmsi from Oh-One’s grip. “I don’t believe it! I was sure we’d be on cadet duty because the droideka got Sap, but they’re sending us out there?” She glances over the paper. “Wonder if they’ll send us all out as a company. There’s only 100 of us FTs. Think we’ll have to work with the boys?” 

“Cool it, Miss. Give me a chance to answer. Anyways, I dunno if we’re all shipping out together. I’ll ask Jags and Gi if they got orders.” Missy drops the filmsi back to Oh-One.

“I _hope_ we get to work with boys.” Sap pokes her head back over and gives Missy a concerned look.

“They’re our brothers, Missy. That’s really gross!” She rolls her eyes. “Anyways, there’ll be real boys out there. Clones get leave sometimes and you can find a real boyfriend.” Missy sits up, pushing a piece of short black hair out of her eyes.

“They’re _us_. We have the same genetics as them. How’s it any different that rubbing one out?” Sap’s face goes brick red. The door to the FT barracks opens to admit Nibs. She folds her arms across her chest and studies the scene. 

“I heard ‘rubbing one out’.” she says, a concerned expression on her face. Missy cackles and Oh-One rolls her eyes. _This has gone on long enough._

“That’s enough, Missy. Sap, don’t worry. I highly doubt protocol allows us to be alone with the boys long enough for Missy to shag one.” Now Nibs looks really confused.

“Did I miss something?” 

“We got our marching orders.” Oh-One hands the piece of filmsi to the confused trooper, who takes it and examines the note carefully. A look runs over her face, a look that Oh-One immediately understands to be... sadness?

“What’s wrong?” Nibs pulls out her own pod bunk and sits down on the edge of it.

“Nothing. I’m just...” She runs her fingers through her hair, a sure sign of stress. “I guess I’m nervous. About going into battle against the real deal.” Oh-One sits down on the bunk next to Nibs and puts a hand on her back.

“It’s gonna be alright, Nibs.” She smiles at her. “We’re a great team. Everyone made it through the exams and that was only the third time one of us has gotten taken out. When those clankers hear that Squad Seven is coming for them, they’ll be shaking in their plating.” Nibs smiles back hesitantly. _I’m not sure she’s okay but whatever it is she doesn't want to talk about it._

“Alright, ladies. Turn in early tonight, we want to be up by 0500 so we’re ready for the supply run. I’ll go see what the other squads are up to.” The girls nod, and Oh-One looks at them, really looks at them. They’re ten years old with the bodies of women twice that. Sap is reading one of the contraband holo-books someone smuggled in three years ago, a romance novel. Missy is sliding off her bunk and heading over to another squad’s block of bunks, calling a casual greeting. Nibs is still death-gripping the filmsi, as if by merely staring she can get over her shock.

 _She’s gotta do this herself._ The thought stings Oh-One, who’s designation is her nickname. She’s FT-0101, technically the oldest of the sisters, if only by a few seconds. The big sister, the rock, the leader. As she walks past the bunk-blocks the other girls wave at her and call out greetings. _I would do anything for my sisters._ She shoots a glance back at Nibs. _But I can’t save them from themselves._

* * *

SUPPLY LOG FOR **EQUIPMENT HALL 201**

DISTRIBUTED TODAY:

  * **20 (TWENTY** **)** FULL KITS
  * **20 (TWENTY)** SUITS OF STANDARD FT MODIFIED ARMOR
  * **4 (FOUR)** COMMUNICATION DATAPADS
  * **20 (TWENTY)** DC-15A STANDARD ISSUE BLASTER RIFLES
  * **20 (TWENTY)** DC-15S STANDARD ISSUE BLASTER RIFLES
  * **20 (TWENTY)** DC-17 STANDARD ISSUE HAND BLASTERS
  * **4 (FOUR)** SETS OF MACROBINOCULARS



**SHUTTLE 897** TRANSPORT LOG

ARRIVED - **HANGAR BAY 12, CLONING FACILITY, KAMINO, 0710 SGT**

LOADED - **20 TROOPERS**

DEPARTED - **HANGAR BAY 12, CLONING FACILITY, KAMINO, 0720 SGT**

DESTINATION - **HANGER BAY 912, REPUBLIC BASE, JELTOD UPSILON, ETA: 1327 SGT**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one today. Do you like the style of the ‘Minutes’ and ‘Supply Log’ segments? I like writing them but if they’re stupid I can stop.


	4. Bureaucracy | Four Against... Several Hundred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emails reveal Zo Sur’s struggle with bureaucracy. The girls land on the planet of their assignment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don’t care about our intern buddy Zo, skip the first four ‘emails’ and start at the fourth page break.

To: Chief Medical Scientist Nala Se

From: Research Associate Zo Sur

Subject: The FT Training Program

I hope this holo finds you in good health. Three years ago you gave me a batch of female troopers to study, raise, and train. I do not forget this, and it has been an excellent opportunity. However I must register my dissatisfaction with the training equipment you have supplied to Batch No. 20979. Many articles are damaged or out of date. Now that the female troopers have been separated from their male counterparts I fear you have begun to push them out of the way. I respectfully request that we give them equal opportunities, otherwise the results of my study shall be contaminated.

* * *

To: Research Associate Zo Sur

From: Chief Medical Scientist Nala Se

Re: The FT Training Program

I have received your request but regret that we must allocate rescources where they are required. Associate Walhou has also requested aid and as her troopers are not, shall we say, defective, I have decided to give her the updated equipment. You will simply have to make do with the articles you have.

* * *

To: Senior Genetic Scientist Cia Ne

From: Research Associate Zo Sur

Subject: Rescource Allocation

Hello. You will probably remember me as the intern who accidentally created a batch of female clones. I remember you as the woman who spoke up on my behalf, and for that you have my eternal gratitude. Unfortunately, I am in a bit of a bind. My department has been receiving sub-standard training equipment after separation from the male clones. The Chief has declined my request for better training equipment, instead supplying Associate Walhou with newer articles. This is a source of immense displeasure.

I know I have no right to ask it but if you can help in any way, perhaps speak to her, it would be greatly appreciated.

* * *

To: Research Associate Zo Sur

From: Senior Genetic Scientist Cia Ne

Re: Rescource Allocation

I have a particular interest in the fate of Batch 20979, so fear not of burdening me with any issues. I, too, was young once, and after fighting my way through bureaucracy with very few allies, I wish to help all I can. I have spoken to Doctors Ha and Brahno. Both have some friends among the trainers of Kamino, and Ha has found some spare equipment. It will be transferred to your department. If you have any further concerns please alert me.

* * *

Nibs is scared. Negative, _terrified_. As the transport shuttle touches down on Jeltod Upsilon the little tooka that’s decided to take up residence in her abdomen begins to dig in its claws. On her back is a pack full of basic equipment. The girls around her all look identical, shiny white chrome covering any identifying feature. _Why does our squad have to be first?_

A hand reaches out and touches her shoulder gently. She turns to look, her stupid helmet limiting her visibility. Nibs isn’t certain but something tells her it’s Missy, of all people. A tentative smile creeps over her face, though the other girl can’t see it under the helmet. _I’m fine. Totally fine. We’re not about to walk into a base full of hundreds of troopers, all of whom are male. It’s going to be wonderful._ She closes her eyes to shut out the fear, only to realize it’s coming from the inside. As the doors of the shuttle open, Nibs opens her eyes again and follows her crew out the doors and down the loading ramp.

Oh-One takes the lead, as always, followed by Missy. Nibs follows her and Sap takes the rear. _Poor girl is probably more scared than we are. Not that she’ll tell us, of course._ On the platform stands a trio of people, one clone trooper and two men. The trooper has a colorful pauldron on one shoulder, denoting him a commander. His helmet is off, revealing a military standard haircut and a clean shave. One of the men is older, near-human by Nib’s guess. He’s nearly bald with a few tufts of greenish hair running around the back of his head. The man next to him is human and much younger in his early twenties. He has dark brown hair and a long braid trailing its way down the right side of his face. _Jedi!_

“Hello, troopers. I’m Commander Brick.” Here Missy snorts a little and Nibs has to resist the urge to punch her in the shoulder. Luckily the commander doesn’t seem to notice, instead continuing “This is General Kinall and Commander Iner.” Oh-One steps forward, tilting her head in recognition.

“I’m Seargent FT-0101. Everyone calls me Oh-One.” The clone nods his head back.

“We’re pleased to be working with one of the few squads of female troopers. It should be an... interesting experience.” The General cuts in. “Brick, lead them to the barracks then report to the meeting room. I’ve received some intelligence we need to discuss.”

As they walk away, Nibs notes that she’s in trouble. For all Sap’s talk of ‘finding love’ and Missy’s talk of ‘getting some’, Nibs secretly thought it was all a lot of posturing. None of the few men she’d ever met held any attraction for her, her brothers or the bounty hunters. Definitely not any of the pencil-necked Kaminoans. But the Padawan who gives them a smile as they walk away with Commander Brick is awakening some feelings in her she’s never felt before, feelings she should not be feeling for her superior officer, let alone a friggin’ Jedi. Suddenly she’s grateful for the helmet. It hides her expressions.

The blank helmet expression of Oh-One finds her face and Nibs can feel the raised eyebrow. She clenches her hand into a fist then holds out her pinky. _Later_. Brick shoots them a semi-amused glance as they march away. Missy notices it, too.

“What is it? Did we do something wrong?” The commander laughs.

“No, you’re alright it’s just... you are aware you can take your helmets off, right?” _We can take the buckets off?_ Nibs, Oh-One and Sap nod in an ‘of course’ motion. Missy is clearly scrambling for a good explanation.

“Don’t you know that it’s against our regulations to take our helmets off while in the presence of male troopers?” she settles on. The commander gives her a confused look. _Ass_. Nibs punches her in the shoulder.

“She’s being a laser-brain. We didn’t know we could take our helmets off, but we _are_ allowed to.” Brick studies her carefully, his face an emotionlesss mask. Whatever he finds, they continue into the base. Now that the shock has worn off Nibs feels suddenly compelled to stare at everything.

They’re being led through a large hangar bay, a few ships layed out here and there. Shuttles land and depart occasionally. The whole area is crawling with clones and droids; repairing and upgrading and loading and unloading. The sky outside is purple, the grass at the end of the duracrete brown and sparse. Walking through that without armor would be hell.

They enter a corridor and Nibs is glad she’s wearing a helmet because there are even more clones in this hallway and they’re all heckling the new squad. It’s hard to tell they’re female without the helmet. Only a few alterations were made to the armor for the FTs. Making the arm and leg pieces a little smaller, adjusting the codpiece region, the chest plate modified to allow for breasts, though not expressly visible from the outside. With their helmets they could easily just be normal clones with some new Kaminoan armor design. She’s not sure that’s much better. _What the hell is a ‘shiny’?_

After going down a few more passageways they arrive at a large room full of neat rows of bunks. Brick directs them to a small section that’s been curtained off and calls over a second clone. He’s also helmetless, and his head is shaved completely bald. 

“This is Captain Kilo. He’s in charge of making sure the men in these barracks behave. He’s also your CO, so in charge of making sure you behave.” He nods at Kilo, then heads from the hall at a brisk march. Kilo gives them a warm smile.

“Nice to meet you ladies. We’ve partitioned off four bunks, and you’ll be showering after the rest of the men go through. It’ll be an adjustment, having sisters, but if anyone gives you a hard time, let me know and I’ll straighten them out.” 

“Thank you, captain.” Oh-One is formal. The girls follow her into the curtained off area. It’s small, containing two racks of beds. Completely different to the pod-block system back on Kamino. Missy pulls off her helmet first, patting down her wild hair. Nibs follows her. The first gulp of unfiltered air after wearing the bucket it always the sweetest. Oh-One removes hers, the conditions inside her helmet not affecting the tight rows of braids she keeps it in. Sap is last, hesitantly pulling the chrome from her head like a CO is going to pop out and yell at her. The girls look at each other and look at the bunks.

A trooper pokes his head around the curtain. A look of shock runs over his face.

“They were right! The new shinies are girls!” Missy waves, a cheeky smile spreading over her face.

“You sure about that?” The man looks very confused. Nibs rolls her eyes and punches Missy again.

“We’re girls. Missy _is_ a dick, though. Even if she doesn’t have one.” The trooper laughs at that. A few more come to peer at them. Nibs shares a look with Oh-One.

“There’s four of us,” whispers Sap, edging away and towards the footlocker at the bottom of a bunk, “I think we can handle them.” Missy rolls her eyes.

“Get with the program, Sap. Did you count how many there were on the way in? More than all the girls in our entire batch! We could have all twenty squads and still be outnumbered.” Oh-One puts a hand on Sap’s shoulder.

“It’s alright. They’re just curious. We’re... _vod_. Brothers _and_ sisters. In Mando’a it’s the same word. They aren’t gonna hurt us.” Sap backs up even further.

“I’m not so sure about that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was highly unedited because I finished it at 1:00 AM after a spontaneous D&D session ended. I wrote this instead of sleeping after, and now I’m going to work on my other crack-fic. I should really go to sleep.


	5. Ahhhh!

All in all the first week didn’t turn out too badly. Not until Friday. There were a number of small scale droid attacks throughout the week but none that required more than a few men to beat off. 

When the attack started, Oh-One was sparring hand-to-hand with Missy. Sap was going up against Nibs. They were on the sparring mats in the training room, surrounded by other clones. This wasn’t an unusual situation, but it was a change for the girls because they were usually surrounded by female clones. Most of the men were simply doing their exercise regimen but a few kept glancing over at the FTs, trying to gauge how well they measure up to the usual shinies.

Sap had just taken a punch to the gut, which, coming from Nibs, winded her through the armor. She ducked back to recover, gasping, and pulled up her fists into a tighter guard. Suddenly the base’s intercom crackled, a voice shouting “Attack on section B27. Report to your designated positions.” Sap moved out of her combat stance and into attention. All three of the girls turned to Oh-One.

“What are you looking at me for? They covered this in the three hours of orientation we took with the other shinies.” Sap shifted nervously. The orientation had definitely said something about designated defense positions. “Well? Let’s get going!” 

So five minutes later they found themselves in the hanger bay, preparing for a squad of battle droids to waltz through the doors. Sap and a another trooper are crouching behind crates and aiming over them at the open doors. She turns to the man beside her, who’s staring down the sight of his blaster. His armor is scarred from long ago battles. He’s painted a diagonal line across the breastplate. _It must mean something but I’m too afraid to ask. Missy would ask._

“Why are the doors open if we expect an attack?” she asks. The trooper stops looking down the sight of his rifle and turns his helmeted head to glance at her.

“That’s the point. If we leave the doors open the droids will waltz on in. We’re supposed to draw their forces so they’ll leave the more important areas alone.” A wave of panic washes over Sap. _So we’re droid bait?_ She doesn’t say that, though. Actually, she doesn’t say anything at all. She picks up her blaster and checks the safety. The trooper must interpret her silence correctly because he turns back to look at her. “This is your first _real_ fight, huh?” She nods. “Don’t worry about it. Just keep firing and it will be over before you know it.” That does help, a little, but Nibs’s cynical remark in the showers comes echoeing back to her. _Next time the droids will be shooting real bolts._

Sap thinks the trooper might say something more, but at that moment a group of B1s _does_ waltz right into the hangar bay. She seized by the urge to fire but the captain who’s in charge of defending this section orders them to hold their fire. _Deep breath in, deep breath out._ The B1s come in straight lines, marching mechanically forward. And they keep coming. And coming. _Holy hell! How many are they going to send at us?_ There’s at least fifty currently entering the hangar bay. The hangar bay that’s sealed off from the rest of the base. _No retreat, no reinforcements_. _We really are droid bait._

Finally, after several hundred years, the captain gives the order. Blaster fire rings out, the ‘pewing’ sound that used to annoy Missy filling the air. Sap panics for a moment, takes aim at the nearest droid, and fires. Fires a lot, actually. The first line of droids is soon peppered with holes from the platoon of troopers hidden among crates and crouching in the rafters. After they fall the droids pull it together and start firing back. A bolt flies entirely too close to Sap’s head for her liking.

The whole thing melts into a blur for a little while. Fire at droids, duck the shots that come your way, repeat. Everything seems to be both faster and slower than usual. Her hands tremble, but luckily the only one who notices is her. Thinking about anything except for the current struggle is impossible. 

The B1s don’t stop. They march forward, identifying the trooper’s firing positions and advancing on them. Three droids move towards the crates Sap and diagonal-stripe-man are crouched behind, firing _way_ too many near-misses. She panics, her hands visibly shaking and her mind going blank.

“Keep firing, shinie!” Diagonal-stripe-man shouts, shooting one droid in the head. That jolts her out of her stupor and she takes three shots, one hitting a droid in the torso, one missing, and the third knocking out the droid’s ‘knee’. The remaining droid doesn’t stop firing, and the one she hit in the knee and torso is still hobbling along. Red jets of light fly around them. The trooper beside her lets out a loud shout as one finds his shoulder. _Shit. Shit!_

Sap takes another deep breath. _Keep firing and it’ll be over before you know it_. She aims for the functioning droid’s head, and fires. The shot goes in one optic sensor and out the back. The remaining droid is far too close for her liking, though malfunctioning badly. As she watches it brings its gun up, aiming the barrel at her head. There’s no time to think.

“Ahhhhh!” she shouts, aiming for the droid. It hesitates for a moment, long enough for her shot to blast through its sparking head. She stands there for a second, confusion freezing her. _I’m still alive?_

She drops back down and examining diagonal-stripe-man. There’s a hole in the gap between his pauldron and breastplate. Luckily for him it can’t have hit anything major. He sits up and reaches for his blaster, moving his injured arm slowly.

“Are you okay?” He begins firing again, and she picks up her blaster to do the same.

“It’s just a scratch.” He pauses for a second. “You know, if all the shinies fight like that we just might have a chance here.” There’s not time for much talking after that and Sap looses herself in the heat of battle, a little glimmer of pride running through her. _We just might have a chance._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter but I felt like that was a good stopping point. I just got my assignment for a gift exchange and school’s starting up soon so updates will be slower in the future, maybe once or twice a week. I’ll try to pick a regular day to update as soon as I see how my schedule shakes out IRL.


	6. Big Damn Heros

Missy is crouched in the rafters, fervently thanking the stars that Oh-One is crouched right beside her. There hadn’t been one training exercise that Oh-One couldn’t pass, and this is just a really big training exercise. At least, that’s what she has to tell herself to prevent a large anxiety attack from occurring. Because this is bad. Pretty bad. 

Below them is the hangar bay, currently full of droids. B1s, mostly, advancing in a never ceasing wave. They fire and fire, sending bolt after bolt into the metal bodies of the battle droids. There’s always another one to take its place, though, a luxury the clones don’t have. The Hangar bay is practically sealed off from the rest of the base, and the only way in or out is currently occupied by a wall of droids. 

None of this would be an issue if Nibs and Sap weren’t down there somewhere, desperately fighting to halt the advance of the enemy. Crouched behind crates or hanging out of doorways. Everyone looks the same in their armor, the troopers below too well obscured and far away to see the telltale signs of an FT. _This is what we’re meant for_ , she tells herself as she watches a white-clad figure fall down behind a crate and remain still, _We’re soldiers_. Every hour of training, every breath, every step; it all comes down to this. Fighting. Shooting. Living or dying on the field of battle not because of skill or bravery or smarts. Most of it is shear dumb luck. The odds that a droid won’t see you, that it won’t hit you, that you somehow see that shot and duck it, that you’ll fire back and hit something major enough to make it stop.

There’s sharp and sudden contact with her gut, and only years of training prevent her from immediately toppling from their position. _I’ve been shot! It’s all over!_ Then she realizes that Oh-One elbowed her. And that she’s stopped firing. She takes a deep breath and aims her rifle down at the mess below, picking on droids about to overrun the ground positions. _Focus. Your brothers and sisters are counting on you._

At a certain point every instant melts into the next, creating a loop of pulling the trigger and ducking stray shots. Suddenly a shot grazes her helmet. Missy drops, wedging herself behind the crossbeam. The way the hangar bay rafters are layed out is a series of interconnecting beams arranged into squares, with a beam running diagonal across the square to make triangles. They’re wide enough for one person to lie down on with just their arms and legs hanging off either side. Every other row of two ‘squares’ has support pillars that run to the ceiling, like the one she’s hiding behind. Planks of wood sit at seemingly random intervals, used by the techs who come up here on occasion. 

What’s strange about that shot is that it wasn’t the normal, extreme angle of a B1 aiming from the floor or a stray shot from a nudged blaster. It came in horizontally, straight across the complicated rafter network. Missy dares a glance from behind the red-painted durasteel and gets a sinking sensation in her stomach. A group B1s have somehow managed to climb up to the rafters and start firing at the troopers perched up there. As she watches another man falls, the rain of red fire incredibly hard to dodge on such narrow footing.

“Clankers on the upper level! They’re coming for our positions.” She prays that there’s a way for someone on the ground to stop their attack, cut off their route into the rafters.

“You’re going to have to hold your positions. We’re being overrun down here as it is.” The voice of her commander disappears and she takes a deep breath in. _Lek is in charge of the rafter defense. He’ll coordinate us._ But as the seconds tick by there’s no orders from her com, only silence. _Where’s Oh-One when you need her?_ Missy can’t see her sister anywhere. She takes a few more deep breaths. _Calm. Calm down._ Now she surveys the half of the hangar she can see.

There’s a few troopers pressed against support beams like her, but luckily no B1s behind her. So she turns again and surveys the other half. From what she can tell the droids are climbing up a ladder of some sort along the far wall. They control five of the twelve ‘square’ sections between support pillars. She’s six from the back wall, and they’re advancing on the section in front of her. There’s a few planks of wood stack to her right, roughly four feet tall and two wide. As a last ditch effort she goes back on the coms.

“What’s the plan, Lek?” No answers. Then:

“Clanker got him.” _Fuck_. 

“Okay. Anyone got any bright ideas?” More silence. “Got it. Okay, everyone who still can fall back to the main posts six from the back wall. We’ll work things out from there.”

“Are we taking orders from the shinies now?” Missy rolls her eyes, a blaster bolt shooting directly over her shoulder.

“You got any ideas?” Slowly the men in front of her retreat until the two-square space is open. Two troopers are pressed behind her and the beam. Missy focuses on the fight above, blocking out the turmoil below. Now that the way is clear the droids are coming across the beams, firing at the exposed troopers. “Now I want everyone in the back three rows to start firing. Try to get their attention. Everyone in the front row hold your fire.”

As she’d hoped, the fire from the back three rows draws the attention of droids, who begin firing on the back positions. “Front row, if you have any near you grab some wood and hold it in front of you.” She grabs one of the planks, a trooper behind her covering her. A hand on each side she holds it to her chest like a shield. “Now charge!” She steps out from behind the beam and pushes at the battle droids with the plank of wood.

Luckily, most of them are completely unprepared for this tactic and plenty of them fall to the ground. “Anyone who’s not pushing can fire at will. Don’t stop moving until you reach the next post!” It’s a hard, desperate fight that seems to take hours, even though it’s less than five minutes. A shatter of ice pierces her heart every time she sees one of the troopers blasted from the walkway or pulled down by a tumbling droid. _No turning back now!_

Finally, the next row of rafters is theirs. She allows herself to lean against the pillar for a moment, sweat dripping down her face. She can’t reach up to wipe it away because of the helmet. _Breath in, breath out._

“Hurt yourself coming up with that one? Push the droids out of the way?” The voice is unfamiliar, any one of the troopers transmitting over the coms. Before she can pull together the wits to deliver a stinging retort, another voice jumps in.

“Yeah, Jogs. Because you were being so helpful hiding behind that support beam. What would we have done without your guidance?” She snorts in spite of herself and straightens again.

“Let’s do that five more times.”

* * *

While Missy is winning the day in the rafters, things aren’t going too well for Nibs. Or anyone on the ground in the hangar bay, for that matter. She’s sandwiched between two older troopers and crouching behind a few skids that’ve been flipped on their sides to create a barrier. Clearly it didn’t help much because one of them collapsed after the first few shots, pinning the trooper with a smiley face sticker plastered to his rifle to the floor. The other trooper left some time ago to parts unknown. Honestly, Nibs isn’t sure. It feels like the last ten years of her life were just a few minutes, and that this battle is the decade.

The barricade is situated closer to the door of the hangar, off to the left side. She’s quickly becoming overwhelmed, and it takes every iota of her attention to survive each passing second. Nibs presses on, ignoring shaking muscles and sweat-pained eyes, dwindling ammo supplies and a glancing blow to the helmet that honestly could’ve killed her. She focuses instead on the never ending row of inhuman targets and the pressure of her finger on the trigger. 

Things begin to look up when the droids start falling from the sky. It’s baffling at first, and she allows herself a quick glance up to see troopers pressing the B1s who are trying to take the rafters off the sides and back towards the wall. They’re dangerous, several almost landing on her head, but also a blessing in disguise. Each droid weighs at least one hundred pounds and the hangar is a tall building. By the time they land on their ground assaulting brethren, they pack quite a punch. Nibs begins to hold out hope that they might win the fight, after all.

Then she looks to the door of the hangar. There’s one final row of droids entering, and for a second her heart lightens at the idea of the battle being finally over. Then she realizes that this final row isn’t just the shitty B1s they’ve been blasting all morning. It’s a block of droids two deep and eight long, B2s, better known as supers, set to either side of a dreaded droideka. For a second she flashes back to their final training simulation, where Sap got taken out before they managed to kill the damn thing with a few risky maneuvers. _What I wouldn’t give for a popper right about now._

Nibs takes a deep breath and aims at the still-alive B1s in front of her. _I’m going to die_ , she realizes, and the fear that’s filled her ever since their deployment reaches a fever pitch as she puts a bullet through the nearest droid’s metal skull. A bubble of hysterical laughter rises in her chest, but she knows if she gives into it she won’t be able to fire or focus. The droids draw closer. They’re passing her line now, and one of the B2s aims its blaster fist directly at her. She still fires, determined to give her surviving brothers and sisters the best chance they have.

And then the droid simply falls apart. Well, not simply. Nibs blinks the combat out of her eyes in enough time to register that a green blade has just sliced the B2 in half, killing it instantly. _Jedi!_ Well, _a_ Jedi. The dancing green blade is alone, belonging to the younger of the two Jedi, ( _a Padawan_ , Oh-One explains in her big-sister voice), Commander Iner. He chops the B2s to pieces, moving faster than Nibs thought was possible. The hope that they aren’t all going to die comes back, and she turns to fire at the B1s still inside the hangar.

But then her hope deflates again, like some sort of rubber ball bouncing back down because she hears a muffled _clank_ and a startled cry. Another B1 has fallen from the sky, but this time it’s landed _on_ the Commander. Nibs winces. The B2s are all down, but the droideka stops, erects its shields, and slowly turns to face the robot and struggling Jedi.

In the next few seconds Nibs learns a few things about herself and about battle droids. One, she obviously cares more about Commander Iner than she originally thought, because instead of concentrating fire on the B1s like her com told her to, she turns towards the struggle. Two, droidekas are definitely not the smartest droids ever created. Three, the severed arm of a B2 battle droid contains weapons powerful enough to attract the attention of a droideka. Four, Nibs has incredible aim under pressure. 

What Nibs does is run out from behind her shield, grab the B2’s arm, and fire directly at the droideka. The droideka is so focused on the Jedi/B1 wrestling match it doesn’t see the bolt until the powerful blast hits its shields. Now it looks up to fire at her, but Commander Iner manages to stab the B1 (who was also distracted by the attack on the droideka), extinguish his lightsaber, push his hand slowly under the shield, and slice the thing to bits. _Droi-dead-ka_. A smile crawls over her face under the helmet. She drops the B2’s arm and heads over to the fallen Jedi.

“Are you okay, sir?” she asks, offering him a hand up. He takes it and gets to his feet, reigniting his light saber.

“Yeah, I think so.” He looks her over with mild surprise on his face. “That was a good shot. I thought I was done for.” She shrugs, pulling her blaster back off of her back. 

“Never leave a man behind.” He smiles and she smiles back, even though he can’t see it.

“That’s why I’m here.” And as he charges at the remaining B1s, braid flying out behind him, Nibs can’t help but think he’s even hotter in the middle of battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I’ve decided that updates for this book will be every Wednesday with an occasional other day thrown in there for good measure. This might vary depending on what’s happening IRL, because I’m part of a few clubs that take up large amounts of time. I’ll let you know before hand if updates are going to be disrupted.


	7. Another Side to Every Story

All in all, Oh-One considers this battle a personal failure. While Sap was screaming at droids, Missy was pushing back the forces in the rafters, and Nibs was saving a Padawan too brave for his own good, she was falling off a rafter beam. She’s proud of her sisters and happy that they all accomplished so much in their first battle, but she’s disappointed in herself. _One single mis-step and I’m in the infirmary!_ Luckily she only damaged her legs, something the chief medic and his fleet of droids were able to repair, even if it took a day and a half. 

Now she sits on a cot, anger swirling around her, while said chief medic changes the bacta-patches on the other casualties. He glances over at her and studies her for a moment. She crosses her arms over her chest.

“What?” The tone is far too defensive, and Oh-One knows she’s acting like Missy, that she should be grateful to this man for keeping her on her feet. But at some time the hurt went from in her legs to in her head and now it’s pushing out through her mouth. He doesn’t seem offended, though, just raises an eyebrow.

“If you’ve got enough energy to be pissed then you can get over here and help me with these bandages.” Mild shock courses through her at his blunt words, but she rises, wincing, to her feet and joins him at the bedside of a clone she doesn’t know. He has her sanitize her hands, then hold the bacta patch while he peels the old one off a nasty looking chest wound. A slight wave of disgust passes through her but she doesn’t really wince. Seeing your legs sitting at disturbing angles for ten minutes does that to a girl. 

“So,” he says, cutting away the dead tissue with a sonic scalpel, “What’s got you so hopped up?” She shrugs, holding the patch steady in her hands.

“Nothing. I’m fine.” He rolls his eyes. 

“I’ve been a medic since the first battle of Geonosis. I know when people, especially clones, are pissed off. So what’s your deal? Your legs are fine.” A look of sympathy passes through his eyes. “Someone die?” Oh-One sighs. 

“No, but they could’ve.” She pauses, and he puts down the scalpel, picking up another tool she doesn’t quite understand. “I fell out of the damned rafters during the first wave of droids. My birth number is 0101 and I’m the oldest of the female clones. By a few minutes, anyways. I’m the big sister; it’s my job to keep them safe. But when they needed me I wasn’t there for them.” 

“We can’t all be heros... what’s your name?”

“Oh-One.” He cracks a smile, applying some sort of gel to the wound.

“Like a droid. Well, Oh-One, you can’t protect everyone. You’re not the only soldier in this army. When it comes down to it we help our brothers- and sisters, I guess, too- as much as we can, but they’re always going to have to fight for themselves.” He gestures to the scalpel. “This is a useful tool. Clears away dead tissue, cauterizes the wound. But in the end it’s the patient’s job to fight off any infection and heal it shut. We’re all soldiers, we’re all capable of handling the Seppies.”

“Even the medics?”

“Especially the medics.”

He shows her how to press the patch onto the wound, starting from the middle and ensuring it has a good seal around the edges. They move onto the next clone (after sterilizing their hands again), this one conscious. His hair is dyed blue, cut close to his head. The medic pulls back the sheets and Oh-One has to fight to maintain a neutral expression. The trooper is only wearing a weird medical gown that’s barely long enough to cover everything. Bandages cover his left calf and his right thigh. He gives her an odd look.

“Got a new assistant, Sawbee?” The medic, who is apparently named some sort of variation on ‘Sawbee’, shakes his head.

“A pissed off shinie who needed something to do.” The blue-haired trooper grins at Oh-One, wincing when the medic touches his legs.

“Nice to meet you, shinie. I’m Jeebs. Scared out of becoming a medic yet?” Oh-One shrugs noncommittally. _Becoming a medic?_ “You will be if you wait around to see what’s under the wrappings.”

“I think she can handle it, Jeebs. You, on the other hand, need to stop fucking around with detonators.” Sawbee shakes his head. “If I see you in here full of droid part shrapnel one more time I’ll have Brick put you on maintenance crew.” Jeebs rolls his eyes, and Sawbee pulls a pair of medical scissors off of the metal tray that’s been following them around. Oh-One notes that it’s a repurposed R2 unit that’s had a tray bolted to its head.

“Whatever, Sawbee. We all know that maintenance crew has better access to explosives anyway.” Sawbee snips his scissors menacingly, then moves to the edge of the bandages. He turns to Oh-One.

“Watch closely.” He slides the edge of the scissors under the tape and snips once. Then he begins pulling it off of the skin gently. “You want to pull the skin away from the bandage, not the bandage away from the skin. Hurts less.” Jeebs sucks in a breath.

“You sure about that?” Sawbee rolls his eyes, peeling off the rest of the bandage tape. Then he sterilizes his hands _again_ and begins unwinding the length of actual bandages. As each millimeter of flesh is revealed, Oh-One begins to see what Jeebs was talking about. He’s got four, ugly looking wounds in his thigh, each ragged. None of them are bleeding and the edges aren’t rotting or anything, but it’s still enough to make her flinch.

“Come on, don’t get all shinie-sick on me now. Hand me the bacta patches and then go get some more bandages from the supper closet.” She gives him a confused look. He sighs. “Supply closet. Why I reach out to shinies is beyond me.” _Where the fuck is the supply closet?_ Oh-One doesn’t ask, though, just hands him the bacta patches and walks along the infirmary until she finds two unlabeled wooden doors. Picking the left one on instinct, she opens it to reveal a closet full of neatly organized shelves.

“Grab some abrasive griptoids while you’re in there.” She grabs a roll of bandages, tape, and another pack of bacta patches, which they seem to be running low on. _Abrasive griptoids?_ Oh-One has a hunch that those don’t actually exist. Sap got sent to find ‘grid squares’ on her first day on base, and Oh-One isn’t about to make the same mistake she did. She heads back over to Jeebs and Sawbee, carrying the bandages and bacta patches.

“Where are the griptoids?” asks Sawbee earnestly. Oh-One places the patches and bandages on the tray.

“I highly doubt they’re anywhere.” A grin cracks over Sawbee’s face as he picks up the bandages. 

“There might be hope for you yet. Medics need finely tuned bantha-shit meters.” He sees the patches she brought back. “ _And_ restocking before we run out of something? Impressive.” Oh-One smiles, and looks to where Sawbee is patching Jeebs’s thigh. “Now pay attention. Normally I’d use some synthskin, but we’re running low on that since the supply convoy got attacked. So you want to wrap it tightly, but not so tightly it cuts off circulation. You can check _that_ like this, see?” _Maybe I’m not so useless after all. In fact, this little detour might make me even more useful than before._

* * *

OFFICIAL REQUEST OF TRANSFER:

**CT-3697** REQUESTS THAT **FT-0101** BE TRANSFERRED TO **THE MEDICAL UNIT** FOR **ADDITIONAL TRAINING.**

NOTES: I think this girl might have what it takes to become a great medic, even if she wasn’t trained for it on Kamino. Ever since Sprint and Mechie died I’ve been down some hands in the medic department, and droids can only do so much. It’d be nice to have another battlefield medic, because we’re running low on those, too. Thank you for your consideration.

* * *

Idion Kinall is sitting at his desk, slogging through a file of the never-ending official documents that require his oversight, when there’s a knock on his door. He invites the knocker in, but he knows who it is before the door even opens. Lin walks over to the other side of the room and sits on the edge of Idion’s bunk. He has a medwrap around his midsection, a relic of the foolish dash into the hangar he made two days ago.

“You wanted to see me, master?” Idion snaps the screenreader shut and turns around to face his apprentice. He’s startled, as he often is these days, by the fact that his Padawan looks more like a young man and less like the boy who he raised in the Jedi temple’s crèche. _He’ll be up for knighthood soon._ The thought disquiets him, but he pushes it out into the Force. _I’ll have to let him go sometime._

“Yes, I did.” The older man sighs. “That was a risky move you pulled in the hangar. You disregarded my orders and ran in anyways, putting your life in serious danger.” Lin’s eyes glint with an unreadable emotion.

“I couldn’t just stand by and watch the men die. They sent in a whole squad of B2s! Their forces were barely adequate for the first fifteen squads of B1s, and they were running on empty by the time the last few rolled in.” _That’s the point, Lin._

“Do you not recall the plan we discussed right before the battle?” The Padawan sighs and tugs on his braid, a sure sign that he’s feeling upset about something.

“Do you remember what I said about that plan? It would’ve meant the deaths of good, honest troopers for no good reason. You kept telling us to hold. I decided we’d held on for long enough.” Idion runs a hand through one of the short tufts of hair at the base of his skull.

“I didn’t like it anymore than you, Lin, but there were no other options. If we’d made a front on assault then even more clones would’ve died. We took casualties in the hangar, but they were necessary.” Lin jumps to his feet, agitated.

“Right after I ran in there, a B2 was aiming at a trooper crouched behind a barricade. If I hadn’t run in she would’ve died. And she saved my life! I got pinned down by a falling B1 and the droideka was going to kill me. She distracted it for long enough for me to destroy it.”

“If you hadn’t run in there you wouldn’t have needed saving!” Lin’s pacing now, walking back and forth over the cold black tile of Idion’s quarters. “I know you don’t like losing men but it’s part of war. Every clone on this base is prepared to die for the Republic.” 

“And I’m prepared to do the same!” He locks eyes with his master, and something about his gaze makes it impossible to turn away. “I know what you mean, so you can go ahead and say it. The clones are expendable and I’m not.” Idion climbs to his feet as well, preparing to argue his point.

“That’s not what I mean. All life is sacred, even the clones. But if I had to pick between victory and-” 

“That’s exactly what you mean.” His accusatory stare leaves Idion and he walks over to the window. “Have you ever spent any amount of time with the troopers? Meetings don’t count. I spar with them, eat with them, I listen to their stories. Every one of those men are worth as much as I am, some even more.” He turns back around and folds his arms. “And you don’t mean between victory and losing more of the soldiers in that hangar, you mean ‘If I had to pick between a few more clones and my Padawan. Well, I’m not a wobbly youngling anymore fighting with a shaky Form I stance. I can take care of myself! Next time you should pick the clones.” He marches over to the door and prepares to exit.

“ _Lin!_ ” It’s his scary voice, the one that got him his former job as crèche master. The voice that causes everyone under the age of twenty (and plenty of people over it) to stop what they’re doing and pay attention. “Sit back down right now.” The brown-haired boy sighs and punches the door controls, shutting it again. He doesn’t sit, though, simply standing where he is and crossing his arms. Idion takes in a deep breath and pushes it back out.

“This war’s taken a lot from me. I raised nearly every Padawan and plenty of the knights and masters currently out on the battlefield and so many of the dead. Sixty-seven years, Lin. I remember taking Master Shaak Ti on her gathering, when Master Obi-Wan Kenobi was simply a hard case who no one wanted to take on as an apprentice, when Master Mace Windu was upset over being picked last for a sports game.” He takes a few cautious steps towards his Padawan, who doesn’t seem inclined to sprint from the room anymore. “I left my position when the war started because the council needed me to lead a battalion of soldiers. I had experience ordering people around. You should remember because you were there. From my years raising younglings I knew that I couldn’t let myself get to attached, because it would break me when I had to let them go. Attachment is not the way of the Jedi, Lin. I want you to think on that.” Lin opens his mouth to speak but Idion holds up a hand. “Go. I will talk to you tomorrow when we are both more calm.”

Idion turns around and retakes his seat. Behind him he hears the hydraulics of the door work it open and then closed. He lifts the screen reader, then sets it back down, moving to the floor. Sitting in the familiar cross-legged position, Idion meditates. _Guide me Force, so I can lead my apprentice down the right path._ He lets the guilt and fear and anger flow out of him and away into the calming stream of energy. _Save me from making the same mistakes again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said Wednesdays, but fuck it. I got this written Thursday evening, edited by mid-day Friday, and I’m completely incapable of waiting to post things. So I guess Wednesday is the day you can count on an update, but there will probably be some on other days because clearly I’m a failure at ‘one-day-a-week’. 
> 
> I didn’t know where I was going with the ‘you don’t care about the men’ arguement until it happened. Interesting, I guess? Hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	8. Tensions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just realized I indented this chapter and last chapter. Which style do you guys prefer?
> 
> Also, this chapter is partially unedited. I’ll try to get to it as soon as possible but it’d be a big help if you let me know about any glaring errors.

The thing that surprises Sap the most about the first few days after the battle is that everyone treats the girls (and the other shinies) with more respect. It’s as though they’ve earned their stripes, in a way. Interacting with the other troopers begins to feel more natural, and the base begins to feel more familiar. 

Things go pretty well for a week or so. Missy seems to have made friends with one squad in particular and spends most of her free time playing sabacc and card commander with them. Sap can’t really imagine what they’re betting on sabacc, but she’s never plucked up the courage to walk over and their games herself. Oh-One’s started training with the head medic, a scary-looking veteran named ‘Sawbones’. She spends more than half of every day in the infirmary, helping out when there are injured and studying diagrams and holo-books when there aren’t. Nibs hangs around with Sap still, but she’s started to branch out a bit more, spending a portion of every evening with some older clones learning Mando’a, a language only Oh-One speaks out of their squad. 

Sap herself is confused. During the battle something pushed her out there, something made her shout at the droid and keep firing with its cold, dead eyes staring into hers. She hasn’t found it since. As she looks out over the rest of the barracks, the room past the curtain, she can’t help wishing she had a little bit of that fire now. Back on Kamino she knew her sisters and didn’t try to meet the other clones, to befriend the instructors. Now she wishes she had, so she wouldn't be so awkward. Sap sighs and rolls over onto her back. _I don’t even have a stupid holo-book to distract me!_

As if in answer to her thoughts, Oh-One comes walking up to the bunks, calling Missy and Nibs over from their respective clumps of soldiers. She leads them over to where Sap is lying. She sits up and looks at them. Missy and Nibs plop down onto Oh-One’s bunk and turn towards her as well. None of them are wearing helmets, so it’s simple to tell that Oh-One is some combination of nervous and excited.

;“Sorry for interrupting, but I’ve got something important to tell you.” She pauses, and her voice drops a level. “Our squad has been assigned to a special patrol. There’s a briefing about the mission tomorrow at 0500.” 

“Do you know what we’re doing?” asks Missy, grabbing the bunk’s metal post. Nibs gives her a look.

“There’s a reason we’re having a breifing about it tomorrow, Miss.” She rolls her eyes. “I don’t think we’re allowed to know what we’re doing until then.” Missy looks right back at her.

“Whatever.” Oh-One gives them a stern look.

“You guys can go now. Miss, can I have a word?” She rolls her eyes, but remains seated while Nibs stands up. She looks at Sap, and an expression somewhat like pity crosses her face.

“Wanna come with me?” Sap shrugs but gets to her feet. “It’ll be fun.” Yeah, right. Nevertheless, she follows Nibs across the room to a group of ‘veteran’ soldiers. She recognizes the diagonal stripes painted on their armor from the trooper next to her during the battle. The one she fought beside smiles at her as she walks closer. His line is green.

“I think this is the shinie I was telling you guys about,” he says to his comrades, “The one who screamed at a battle droid.” Embarrassment courses through her, making her cheeks feel flushed and hot. Apparently, he picks up on her discomfort. “Hey, I’m only tooling around. That was pretty impressive. A few more battles like that and you won’t be a shinie anymore.” 

“Thanks.” she mutters, hardly daring to look him in the eyes. _You fought beside him in a battle. I think you can look him in the eyes, you wimp._ Sap’s eyes flutter up and he smiles.

“We’re gonna have to start calling you _shy_ nie.” Jokes a trooper with a red stripe. Nibs rolls her eyes.

“This is Sap, you guys. Now are you going to quiz me or not?” A trooper with a purple stripe glances at the green one.

“Care to do the honors, Knuck?” _Knuck? That’s not the worst one I’ve ever heard but definitely not the greatest_. The green trooper sits up straighter and turns to Nibs.

“Me’vaar ti gar?” Nibs thinks for a moment.

“Naas. Ner vod Missy... ori... Gah! How would you say ‘pisses me off’?” The other diagonals laugh, and when Sap joins in she feels a little better. _Maybe I_ can _find a way to fit in around here._

* * *

Missy sighs and smacks the back of her neck, killing another one of the small black bugs that plague them around here. Apparently someone reported the locals allowing the Sepratists a base deep in the forest so they can better attack the Republic outpost. The mission is to walk dozens of miles on foot so they’re harder to detect and figure out if those reports are true. Easy enough. Except for the three million blood-sucking insects flying around the place, intent on consuming their flesh. It’s so humid that the inside of her helmet is torture but taking it off means exposing herself to the swarm. She’s been alternating for a while now.

“Some of the locals are definitely trying to sabotage us.” Missy says loudly, pulling the bucket back on. Nibs snorts, and she tries to smile at her through the helmet. They’ve been on bad terms since the previous day, after the short but intense argument over nothing. She’d hoped spending less time with her sister would make them less inclined to fight, but apparently nothing but miles of trecherous terrain can do that. 

“Cut the chatter, Missy.” Oh-One sounds nearly as tired as she does. The sun appears to be going down; perhaps they’ll be allowed to rest soon. Three other squads make up the patrol, headed by Commander Iner. However, over the next ten minutes they show no sign of slowing. _Guess we’re going all night. Great._

In reality, it’s nice to be out of the base for a little while. The trees are beautiful, their leaves purple and yellow. Walking underneath them makes Missy feel safe, regardless of how little sense that makes. She makes a visual scan of the area and notices something odd- a strange pattern among the leaves. Tapping a little button switches on her hypervision. The patch lights up red like an emergency beacon. _Woah! There’s something organic right there._

“Hey-” and that’s all she has time to say before the forest explodes into chaos. Lasers pit the dirt around them, and a few troopers fall to the ground, injured or dead. The distinct sound of a lightsaber igniting, unfamiliar yet comforting, joins the cacophony. Training kicks in and Missy drops, pulling out her blaster rifle and aiming around the clearing, attempting to asses the situation. 

A dozen humanoid, fur-covered figures are situated around the clearing, firing on the patrol from all sides. She fires back on instinct and manages to not only miss, but draw attention to herself. There’s no cover; the clearing is devoid of sticks and underbrush. _An ambush!_ The troopers who still can fire back at the furry figures, downing several. Commander Iner deflects bolts back at them with deadly accuracy. The battle is short but intense, and after a few minutes of silence Missy pulls herself to her feet. Suddenly, there’s a crackling behind her. She turns and finds herself nose-to-nose with one of the figures. He or she has a covering pulled low over their face, gleaming amber eyes the only visible feature. A blaster is aimed directly at her chest.

Missy knows the specs of their armor. How many hits each piece can take, their weakpoints, their strongpoints. She knows that her chest plate cannot take a blast at point-blank range and leave her alive. And, weirdly, she’s okay with that. For a split second everything she’s ever done shrinks to a tiny point in the back of her mind as she prepares to meet oblivion. And then there’s a blaster firing and Missy waits for the sharp sting of a wound, a pinch, a punch. Death.

But remarkably, it doesn’t come. Then the humanoid drops to the ground, dead. It’s not the clean, bloodless wound they’re used to from the droids. It’s a messy affair that sends blue-tinged blood flying across the clearing. Wordlessly, Missy turns her head. Standing to her left is Nibs, blaster raised. She stares at her hand, then the blaster, then the dead humanoid. Her helmet is on, so Missy can’t see what she’s thinking. But Missy knows. So she reaches out a hand, pushes the trembling blaster down, and puts a hand on Nibs’s shoulder. It shakes.

* * *

Nibs is trying to sleep. They’ve set up camp as far as they could move the injured away form the attack site, but it’s still too close. She can feel her finger pulling the trigger, see the poor humanoid die. _You’ve killed dozens_ , she tells herself, _why should this one bother you?_ The answer is clear. _Those were droids. That humanoid was alive._ She sits up in her sleeping bag. Her helmet rests neatly nearby, along with her weapons and pack. If there was another attack she could leave in a moment.

She pushes her way out of the bag and onto her feet. A sentry stands guard a few yards away. There's a tarp strung up nearby, under which are the five wounded troopers and Oh-One. The girl had been in her element the last time Nibs saw her, doing her best to help her brothers. _She’s going to do fine_ , Nibs had thought. Now she wonders if she’ll do fine herself.

Wandering into the woods is a terrible idea. There could be more of the humanoids in the trees, waiting to ambush anyone who steps outside the perimeter. Nibs will take her chances, though. _I’d deserve it._ The humanoid’s face swims in front of hers as she walks among the trees. _Did they have sisters? Brothers? Children?_ She follows the sound of rushing water, mentally cursing herself. _You’re a soldier. Act like it!_ But she can’t.

Nibs pulls off her helmet and plunks down by the stream, splashing cool water over her face. _Is this safe?_ She wonders idly. Sap would know. Suddenly a branch cracks behind her and she wheels around, leaping out of her crouch and into a defensive position.

“Woah, it’s just me!” It’s dark in the trees, and she can’t make out the features of the speaker, but she recognizes the voice. It’s the Commander, the one who rushed into the hangar to save them a week ago. There’s a noise and a soft blue light falls over the clearing, emitted from a shimmering blue blade that’s suddenly sprung into existence. The light glints in the soft, grey eyes of Comander Iner. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, sir.” The title falls from her lips automatically; a habit drilled into her over a lifetime. The commander sighs.

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir’ right now,” he says, An unfamiliar feeling settles in her stomach, strange but not unpleasant. She swallows hard.

“I have to call you ‘sir’ all the time. It’s the protocol.” The Padawan rolls his eyes.

“It’s not protocol to wander into the forest in the middle of the night, but I’m not writing you up for that, now am I?” Something in her expression must give her semi-hurt feelings away because his tone changes. “Look, I can tell you’re upset. Will you come walk with me?” Nibs teeters on the edge of declining, uncertain. _For once I wish Missy was here._

“Alright.” The Padawan leads her through the trees to a small clearing, much smaller than the one they were ambushed in. A fallen tree makes a bench, and they sit beside each other, saying nothing. _What now?_ As if he hears her thoughts (and, given the stories they’ve heard about the Jedi, he probably has), he says,

“I don’t know if I ever thanked you properly for saving my life.” She blinks at him. 

“It’s nothing.” Nibs says, “It’s what we do. You never leave a brother behind, and even though I don’t know you all that well it seemed like the right thing to do. Though right now I don’t know what the right thing really is.” 

“I know what you mean.” The young man sighs and extinguishes his saber, looking up at the stars. “Can I talk to you about something?” The grey eyes are on her now, intense and, dare she say it, beautiful. 

“Why me?” She curses herself. “I mean, why talk to me? I’m not different from the others. I’ve not talked to you outside of a few words in the middle of battle. You don’t even know my name.” A strange look crosses his face.

“I don’t know. Because we’re here. Because you saved me.” He hesitates, then continues, “And you are different. I don’t know why, but you are.” She crosses her arms.

“Is it because I’m a girl?” A horrible thought crosses her mind. “If you came out here because you’re trying to get into my blacks, you can hop right off.” Surprise ripples across his face.

“That’s not it at all! I meant- I can feel you in the Force. You’re upset because you killed the humanoid. I feel that way, too.” He pauses awkwardly. “I, uh, thought you might understand what I’m saying.” Nibs eyes him suspiciously. _Can I trust him?_ The Padawan sighs. “I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. We should go back to camp.” Her heart softens a little. She doesn’t let her guard down, but she doesn’t follow him to his feet.

“Wait!” she says quickly, “If you want to talk, we can. I just-” Nibs lets out a sigh. “Missy’s a lot better at talking than me. Sap, too, if you can get her going. Oh-One’s good at advice. You are right, though. I can’t talk about the humanoid. They’ll think I’m crazy.” She laughs, a little. “Maybe I am. I’m trained to kill, I should’ve known this would happen. I’m not scared of fighting anymore but I don’t want to kill living things. It feels... wrong.” The Padawan’s face lightens, and he leans against a tree trunk.

“That’s what I mean. Ever since I was little the Jedi have always taught that all life is scared. Hell, they fought for the Zillo beast’s right to survive, and that thing nearly killed the chancellor. But now they’re sending us into battle against people. People like me, people like you.” He laughs a little, too. “Well, I guess not like us. I can feel them in the Force, too. I can feel their fear, their anger at our occupation.” He shudders. “And I can feel them die.” Nibs stands and takes a step towards him, unsure.

“They attacked us.” She’s not sure who she’s trying to convince. “They killed two clones, inured four.” He sighs.

“But they live here! This is their planet! Shouldn’t they be allowed to build a Sepratist base if they want to?” The Padawan takes a few steps forward as well. “We’re invading their homes.” A host of complicated emotions is rushing through Nibs. _I didn’t think it was possible to not want to fight. But I don’t know. This isn’t what I’m trained for._

“What can we do? It’s not like we can just stop fighting.” She panicky for a second. “Just saying all of this makes us traitors.” The young man puts out a tentative hand, as though scared she might bite, and places it on her pauldron. It’s causal for him, maybe. But inside Nibs is confused. _Should I push it off? Scream? Punch him?_ Normal combat training doesn’t cover light shoulder touches.

“If not wanting to kill people makes me a traitor, count me in. We’re not wrong, just... not going along with the popular opinion.” She gives him a weird half-smile, one that might’ve looked a little pained. “I still don’t know your name.” 

“Nibs.” He raises an eyebrow.

“How’d you get that one?” Her smile breaks into a real one.

“That’s a story no one will ever tell. Ask Oh-One, ask Sap, even ask Missy. We don’t talk about it. It’s going to the grave.” A devious smile covers his face.

“I have ways of learning your name!” He wiggles the fingers on his free hand, and for a second she’s worried he’s going to actually mind attack her before she realizes he’s stopped, looking at her in horror. “Oh, Force, sorry! That was a joke!” She punches his shoulder.

“It wasn’t funny.” she says, glancing at the position of the moon, “We should head back soon.” He follows her gaze.

“One more thing.” Nibs turns to him. “My name’s Lin. Lin Iner. Now we’re _properly introduced_ traitors.” She smiles at him, and as they walk away into the woods she can’t help but hope that they become more than fellow traitors. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School is hard, y’all. Social distancing rules are confusing, my schedule got fucked up, and to top it all off I have math first thing in the morning. Great time! Sorry for the late-in-the-day update.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Next one will definitely be out next Wednesday.


	9. A Confession, A Rejection, A Dilemma

EXCERPT FROM ‘ _ **THE UN-OFFICIAL TESTIMONY OF FT-0165**_ ’

DATE RECORDED - **THREE MONTHS AFTER THE BATTLE OF ENDOR**

TRANSCRIPTION OF THE AUDIO: 

* _CRACKLING NOISE THAT MAY INDICATE EXHALE_ * 

I’m not really sure where to start. If you’re listening to this then I guess you probably know who I am. I’m going to write it on the holotape. If you don’t know who I am, then I’ll try to answer you. My name is Nibs. Depending on who you ask, anyways. They used to call me 0165, but she’s supposed to be dead. I’m thirty-three years old but you wouldn’t know that looking at me. My hair is white, my body weak, my skin wrinkled. During the Clone Wars I was a soldier in the GAR. Number sixty-five of one hundred female clone troopers.

Now let’s move on to a better question- _why_ am I recording this? I guess it’s because despite how many years removed we are from the conflict, the war still haunts me. I can still smell the barracks, see the smile of my commander, hear my sister teasing me. What I want to accomplish is to give you an accurate version of the events of the final night of the war, and some of the crimes I helped the newborn Empire commit afterwards.

*PAUSE*

Rumors have reached me that there’s a new Jedi in the galaxy. He’s going to start training more, supposedly.

* _SECOND CRACKLING NOISE FOLLOWED BY A SCRAPING NOISE_ *

I feel like I owe it to the Jedi I knew those twenty-three years ago to let this new one know what happened. Why he had no order to grow up in. And I owe it to my sisters, my brothers, and myself to let this ‘New Republic’ know exactly who was giving the orders to do what. And why we listened. Because what we did was unforgivable. And I’m okay with that.

* * *

HOLOMESSAGE RECORDING

TO GENERAL KINALL:

Listen, Idion. You’ve been one of my closest friends since we were both crèchelings so many years ago. There’s no one I’d rather fight beside in this cursed war. Unfortunately the healers don’t think my legs will ever be what they once were and if I want to walk again they’re going to have to take them off and give me droid ones. Still wondering what I should do. In the mean time they’ve put me on intelligence and youngling wrangling. You’d like it here, we’ve got some spirited kids. *sigh* I suppose it’s time to stop stalling.

To answer your question, no, I’m not going to ask them to pull Lin off the front. Before you default back into another ‘I know my Padawan’ rant, I’ll explain why. Lin’s nineteen years old. He’s young, foolish, impulsive. Attached to his men. I’ve never seen him meditate for more than twenty minutes straight. You know who else all those descriptions apply to? Anakin Skywalker. He’s a handful of years older than your apprentice and he’s a well-respected general and tactician. No two people are the same, I know, but Lin is not the small boy you pulled from the back of your penultimate crèche class. 

Part of this is about Jynne, I think. You need to let go of that. The Jedi path is not for everyone. Eventually we have to step back and let our students sink or swim on their own merits. This is the time to let Lin gain more independence. He’ll be up for his trials in another few years; he needs experience if he’s going to pass. Now you have to see if you trained him well, which I know you did. Training is all we can rely on in the end. 

So, as I said before, Lin is staying on the mission. Perhaps sending him to guard a convoy will help him understand the burden of command better than he does now. You’ve holo-ed me enough complaining about it. May the Force be with you, my old friend. Let’s hope you won’t have to use it.

-COMMANDER GONAS

* * *

If there’s one thing Sawbee’s been right about, it’s that a medic needs a good bantha shit meter. Of course, he’s been right about more than that, but the first lesson always sticks hardest. In the three months she’s been training Oh-One’s seen the fakest limp that anyone's ever attempted, foolish troopers who think eating charge-jelly will make them throw up (it does quite the opposite, actually), and a few strange and embarrassing injuries that troopers have baffling excuses for. 

As long as there’s an actual medical problem Oh-One’s happy to help whoever out, even if that means suppressing a grin while handing a compress to a trooper who won’t stop complaining about how tight his blacks are. He’s still crowing about his uncomfortable underlayer when Nibs walks in, looking a little peaky but otherwise okay.

“I swear they shrunk on the way from where ever they make them.” The trooper shakes his head aggressively, failing to meet anyone’s eyes. “Must’ve been a packaging malfunction.” Nibs hovers in the doorway, looking a tad unsure. Sawbee walks over and asks her a few questions before heading over Oh-One.

“She says there’s some ‘girl problems’ going on but refuses to elaborate.” Oh-One raises an eyebrow.

“We don’t menstruate.” Sawbee shrugs and casts her sister a side eye.

“I know. I suppose it’s possible she’s gotten a rash or something. Maybe she’s in the same boat as Razor over here and spent a little too much time on her own.” Razor, who’s still complaining loudly, shuts up and looks at him with a slightly hurt expression. “By way, vod, cut back a little. We’ve got better things to use those compresses for than your balls.” Razor blinks at him and then looks down at the floor. 

“Some of the kaminoans that tested us were male. Dunno why she’s started being so shy all of a sudden.” Sawbee shrugs.

“Either way, I think you should go talk to her. If she does have a rash or something, come get me so I can take a look at it. Putting normal topical creams on spicer’s rash doesn’t tend to end well, and I haven’t tested you on STIs yet.” Oh-One nods and heads for her sister, who’s sitting on a bed near the doors of the infirmary. She stands by the side of it and folds her arms, followed by T4-B3, their retired astromech assistant who’s had a tray bolted to his head.

“What’re you on about with these girl problems?” Nibs looks both relieved and terrified. A stone sinks through Oh-One’s gut, and her tone changes immediately. “Did someone touch you?” Nibs jumps at that and shoots her an alarmed look.

“No! No! Nothing like that.” The rush of panic calms itself a little. “I just really need to talk to you. And ask you to pull rank.” Oh-One folds her arms and gives Nibs a look. The look that can shut up even Missy. “Okay, let me explain.”

“Look, I need to know if you have an actual medical problem so I can get Sawbee over here to do an exam. I don’t care if your cunt’s turned purple, he’s a doctor. Helped deliver three civilian babies, actually. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.” Nibs looks suitably chastised, but she doesn’t back down.

“I’m getting sent out without the rest of the squad.” Oh-One’s calm medical demeanor (or whatever that was) drops immediately. _Nibs. Alone. Us, without her._ “In three days. I need you to tell Brick I can’t go because my joints are fucked up or something.” A million questions are racing through Oh-One’s mind.

“Why are they sending you alone?” Nibs starts twisting the bedsheets in her hands. 

“Missy and Sap have been off on the other side of the planet for two weeks. Lin thinks they might get sent off with other regiments, too. There’s only a hundred FTs and apparently we’re an interesting story.” _I thought they were going to be back soon! And we’re some sort of zoo animal now..._ She pushes that portion of Nibs’s statement out of the way for a minute, though.

“Lin?” She’s gotten a lot of the names down recently and can’t recall any Lins. Nibs blushes a little, and though she tries to hide it a strange expression crawls over her face. The big sister inside her is not very happy with either of these developments.

“Commander Iner. We’ve been talking a lot recently. He’s leading the regiment I’m being sent out on.” Oh-One has to fight the urge to shake her sister by the shoulders.

“Nibs. You _cannot_ fuck the commander.” Nibs’s eyes widen.

“We are not fucking!” Their voices, which have been getting progressively louder, carry. Luckily it seems like most of the infirmary only heard the last part. Heads swivel their way. Nibs drops her head and voice, embarrassed. “We just talk. We’re _friends_ , Oh-One. You spend eight hours a day training with Sawbones, are you fucking him?” Apparently he feels like he’s been summoned, because the older medic drifts over.

“Do we have our problems sorted?” He scrutinizes the two troopers. T4 beeps enthusiastically. His head whips around to look at the droid. “Sorry, what?” Oh-One kicks his metal chassis. 

“We’ve got a positive gobbler, Sawbs.” He shakes his head.

“I thought you were the one that shot a droideka with a B2 arm.” Nibs shrugs. “Well, there seems to be a bigger picture here, but the second thing a medic needs is the ability to keep a secret. I, personally, am not going to ask who you’re fucking and why it’s such a big deal, but I’m going to tell you this; stay away from Knucks, Kata and Qek. Not worth it.” Nibs blinks at him.

“Understood.” Oh-One gives her a long, searching look as Sawbee strides away.

“We are going to talk about this later. A lot.” Nibs makes an expression like she’s smelled something unpleasant.

“I can hardly wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This is edited and on time! Are you proud of me? Hope you liked the chapter. Asking for honest feedback here, do you guys like the Sap/Lin subplot? The Oh-One medic subplot? I have a lot of ways I can go with this and I’d like to know so I don’t commit to a storyline nobody wants to read. See you next Wednesday!


	10. Answers

A CATALOGUE OF THE CONTENTS FOUND IN THE JEDI TRAITOR LIN INER’S QUARTERS SHORTLY AFTER THE JEDI REBELLION:

 **Note from the archivist droid-** _The objects listed below have been whittled down to the more interesting entries. A full catalogue, starting with ‘Standard Undergarments’ and ending with ‘Spare Emitter Matrix Parts’ can be found here._ 1

  * Note written on filmsi. An advertisement covers one side, writing the other. Encoded message reads ‘Nvvg nv lm wvxp 13, 1900, rm hglivztv illn 213 -N. 2
  * A copy of _The Jedi Path_ , what is apparently an instruction manual for young Jedi. The contents of this volume are not public record at this time, though it may be noted that a line of initials ran the length of the inside cover, the most notable being the final three.3 4 Some of the owner’s annotations are quite unsettling, and several have been crossed out into illegibility. Unfortunately not readable, see footnote three.
  * A sketchbook full of drawings. Notably, a young woman with dark hair, an older man believed to be Idion Kinall5, and various military operatives. It is unknown at this time who the young woman is, and there are no clues as to her identity. The pictures can be found in the full inventory, for the curious. All were done on actual paper.
  * Rope made of braided grass, tied into a circle. The right diameter for a bracelet, perhaps. 
  * Bedsheets. Completely unremarkable except for the large bloodstains covering them. Analysis suggests both that the blood belongs to a human or humanoid species and there’s enough to put most human or humanoids in danger. Odd, especially considering that most of the weapons that Iner, his men, or battle droids had on hand would’ve cauterized any wounds on impact.



1 Link broken, get TR-455H4 back in here to reorganize things. - F.N.K.

2 A translation of the message can be found in the full inventory.

3 It is rumored that the content of _The Jedi Path_ (while not this specific copy) is somewhere on the holonet. I am an archive droid and my function is to spread knowledge. This knowledge is illegal, and the obtaining of it is also so. Therefore I cannot leave it lying around. Perhaps if you speak with me directly I can help you further. By explaining where it is, how to find it, and why you should not go after it. 

4  The initials in question are ‘IK’ followed by two initials sitting directly next to each other, ‘ ~~JK~~ LI’

5 Idion Kinall, believed to be the aforementioned ‘IK’, was the Jedi master responsible for training Lin Iner. His file can be found here. 

* * *

Sap is one step away from climbing into a transport and leaving her sisters behind forever. She glances back. Oh-One is standing on the platform like she promised, waiting for her little sister. Knucks, her friend with the diagonal line, is behind her. Sap takes a deep breath and goes to her position inside the craft. 

“Sure you're ready for this?” The veteran asks. She exhales, slowly, through the nose.

“Yes.”

...

Missy is awakened by a tap to the shoulder. She dresses in the dark and follows her brothers to the back wall, where a window will open and let them out. One climbs through first, Kata. He’s followed by Eek. As she makes to follow them into the darkness, Lot holds her back. She locks eyes with him in the near darkness.

 _You sure?_ Those eyes say. In answer, she climbs out the window.

...

Nibs is laughing, balanced on a low wall somewhere deep in the ship. Lin is laughing beside her, his eyes so full of life. Just as she’s thinking she could stare into those eyes forever, his face turns serious. And she finds herself moving closer, and he’s moving closer, and it’s all a little much for her. He pulls back for a moment, watching her reactions.

“Okay?” It’s a question. One that she answers with her lips.

...

Oh-One sits on the edge of a sink. It’s utilitarian, stainless steel. Beside her sits a package of dye and a package of hair-bleach. Should her CO walk in right now, she’d surely be reprimanded for the contraband. But he won’t, she’s pretty sure, and she doesn’t really care that much anyways. Jeebs, who apparently likes hairstyling in addition to blowing things up, stands behind her.

“Are you sure?” he asks. She nods. He squirts the bleach onto the little plastic brush and gets to work.

* * *

_An excerpt from ‘_ When Stone Turns to Sand’ _, a first hand account of Order 66 written by an escaped Jedi traitor. The only known copy, still around 27% away from completion, lies hidden in a vault somewhere. It’s better to not say what happened to the author. It might overload your logic circuits._

> “... and if you want to talk about Iner, well, Iner was only a Padawan. Sure, he was nineteen, but he was young. I think he got sent out there to grow up a little. Let’s hope he grew up fast. The last time I saw him, he was sneaking around level 13. Don’t know what he was doing there. Maybe meditating? Anyway, for those of you who don’t know, his is probably the most well-known story to pierce the iron curtain around the ‘Failed Jedi Rebellion’, as the Imps have taken to calling it. It’s still rather obscure, but it’s powerful for the few who know. Not only because of the final message he sent, but because of how he got it out there.
> 
> The one thing people focus on is the blood. See, most people think it was his and he’s even more of a tragic repentant hero. (If you’re an Imp. If you’re not you can take off the repentant bit.) That’s not true. Honestly don’t know why. You don’t just crawl to the command console missing a few pints of blood. Some folks would say it was mine, but if _that_ was true you wouldn’t be reading this. I, of course, know exactly whose blood it was and how it got there, and there’s only one logical answer. A vibroblade and Lin’s solitary casualty.”

_I’m not entirely sure how I got this or how long it will stay here, but it is pertinent to your current search filters. Be careful when adjusting them in the future._


	11. Marching Far Away

Sap has started seeing a lot more combat recently. She’s been transferred to a location in the outer rim, fighting droids on a planet of flat, lifeless plains and wide rivers. It’s not exactly clear what the planet has that’s worth fighting for, but good soldiers follow orders. And Sap is a good soldier.

There’s lots of wind and little cover, a combination that would be freezing if it weren’t for their suits. The troopers are still cold, but alive. The other problem with the flat land that gives you miles of visibility is it makes it nigh on impossible to protect yourself from blaster fire. Armor will keep you alive with broken ribs or bones on hit number one, but if the droids hit the same piece twice or a gap between plates, you’re SOL.

When battles hit, they hit hard. The troopers have set up entrenched positions at random intervals all over the place. Digging into the rocky, ashy soil was not easy work; but it’s paid for itself in lives saved by small, earthen barricades. It’s little more than a large circle dug two feet into the ground that can fit about fifty troopers. Sap’s lying down for first rest when the firing starts.

The sentry on the wall, Bristle, calls out the approach of approximately thirty to fifty droids. She kicks her way out of her sleeping bag and has her armor back on within four minutes. One minute shorter than the standard re-suiting time. Making her way to the wall, she pulls out her rifle and takes up a position.

If she had to estimate, there’s closer to sixty. The strange, not quite human figures march along the horizon, dim sunlight glinting off their bodies. _B1s_ , Sap hope-thinks, _those are definitely B1s_. The order comes down to fire, and she lines up her shot with the forefront of the group. _Pew!_ Jets of blue light fly over the grey soil and strike their targets.

The droids pull up their weapons and begin to fire back. A trooper falls still next to her, a hole smoking in his visor. There’s no time to mourn, only to aim and fire. Bolt and bolt. Pray that the next volley won’t hit you. _Not that anybody ever thinks it will_ , she muses. Despite the death all around them, most of her brothers don’t seem to feel like it could happen. Not to them. Until someone close dies.

The column of droids keep approaching. She was mostly right in her hope-guess, they’re mostly B1s. But a terrible, terrible, few are B2s. Droids that can handle three bolts through their shiny brains and keep on coming. And that’s precisely what they’re doing. The sound of mechanical footsteps joins the blaster fire and shouting. The music of battle.

“Oi!” A body hits the ground next to her. Luckily, this one appears to be a living trooper simply hitting the dirt. “Sap! Do you have any droid poppers?” It’s Knucks, her green friend. 

“We’ve been out for days, vod. Supply trains keep getting attacked.” He sighs, a sound accentuated by the helmets modulator.

“Guess we’re gonna have to do this the old fashioned way, huh?” She grins beneath her helmet, a terrified grin, and gets back to firing. The B2s keep on coming. Closer. Far too close for Sap’s comfort. The next shot goes right over her head. _Oh no, too close. Too close._

Its staring into her eyes with its cold, dead ones. Red eyes. Droid eyes. And it’s raising its arm, and she screams but this isn’t a B1. It is not startled. It doesn’t see Sap, it sees a target. Not an opponent, not a being, not a life. No different from a paper cutout.

And in the split second before the shot fires, she wants to scream desperately that she gives up, that the excercise is over. Waits for the lights to turn on. Wants to say that it’s not fair, none of it. That she was born at all, that her first general would’ve left her into a hanger to die, that they split her up from her squad, that she’s going to die with one friend who’s going to go soon after. That none of the people she’s fighting for will know that she died, or care that she did. 

But the droid doesn’t care. It sees none of these things, hears none of the words. And when the bolt fires into Sap’s chestplate, no one can hear her scream. 

She feels the pain for a minute, sharp and clarifying, and then she leaves. It feels like falling asleep, sort of, the gradual loss of sensation. No fingers to clench into fists or eyes to close or lungs to gasp air into. Just Sap. She’s left with her mind. Suddenly, alarmingly, she can feel everything. Her brothers, both at this encampment and far away, the little organisms that cling to every surface, the bacteria. It spreads outwards, until she can feel grass on Naboo and pilots on Alsakan and Jedi on Coruscant. She can feel the entire galaxy and far, far beyond. 

Slowly she dissipates, loosing herself in a thousand moments and creatures everywhere until thoughts are gone. No Sap. No war. There is life, and nothing left to regret or fear. If she existed, Sap would’ve relished the feeling.

* * *

_Inscription carved on a rock somewhere on the plains of Sadoa-Phite. Part of a larger pile of rocks with their own inscriptions._

**“Sap - the shinie who shouted at a droid, but was too shy to talk to people. Not gone, merely marching far away.”**

_Last line is repeated on all twelve stones._

* * *

EXCERPT FROM ‘ **THE UN-OFFICIAL TESTIMONY OF FT-0165** ’

DATE RECORDED - **A RAINY DAY**

TRANSCRIPTION OF THE AUDIO: 

*SOUND OF RAINDROPS CAN BE HEARD IN THE BACKGROUND*

I’m back. I started these tapes a few weeks ago. Haven’t had much to say. But whenever it rains it always makes me think of Kamino, which makes me think of my sisters, which makes me think of the war. It’s a spiral. What am I going to tell you about the war? Very little. Not a lot more than you already know, anyways. Just the murky parts. And I wasn’t everywhere. I’m one clone, one voice, one story. How many countless thousands of my brothers and sisters were heros who died nameless? I can’t tell you how many. 

*CRACKLING NOISE*

No point in talking to talk. What you want to know about is the last night of the war. The terrible things the Empire did thereafter. So that’s what I’ll tell you.

We killed them.

I’m not going to sugarcoat it.

Some of them saw us as mindless machines, little more than the droids we were sent to fight. Some of them reguarded us with compassionate disinterest. Others saw us as friends and allies. Finally, there were those who became too attached.

This isn’t about me. But I didn’t want to kill my Jedi.

What we wanted didn’t matter, though. They were killed anyways.

Our Generals. Masters and Knights. Our Commanders. Padawans.

The ones who never saw combat. Younglings.

I didn’t see them kill the baby-Jedi. Those weren’t my orders. I can tell you right now that I would not be talking to you right now if they were. Many things are worse than death.

That unhappy task fell to the 501st. Legendary fighters. I wonder how many of them are left? Do they live with themselves? Can they? 

*CRACKLING NOISE*

I said I wouldn’t talk about myself. I don’t really know how else to explain this, though. So I’ll leave you with a few simple facts. On the night we got Order 66, I was on a Republic ship under the command of Lin Iner. On the night we got Order 66, I was in the private quarters of Lin Iner. On the night of Order 66, I had to crawl out of the arms of Lin Iner to grab my com.

If I had stayed there, maybe things would’ve been different.

But I didn’t, and they weren’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depressing chapter. I hope you still enjoyed it, a little.


	12. It Will Be Done

“I’m worried about you, Missy.” Only years of training and an instinct to defer to a superior make her stop punching the bag and turn around to face the captain. _He doesn’t know me._ The thought is like acid. _No one here does._

“Worried about what?” She crosses her arms. The look on Tick’s face is almost enough to make her feel bad for her standoffishness. Almost. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’ve been here for a month and I don’t think half the men even know your desig, let alone your name. This army is meant to be one unit; you can’t just shut all of us away and do everything alone.” Missy frowns.

“The heads in charge seem to think so.” Tick frowns again, and it kind of reminds her of Oh-One. They are clones of each other, technically, but every one is different. It’s not because they have the same lips but because they have the same instinct to look after. “I don’t want to talk to anyone around here. _Sir_.” She adds the last word out of habit, spitting it like bad fruit instead of the respect it merits.

“But you _will_ sneak out of the base and go drinking with them?” _Uh-oh._

“Why are you here, Captain?” A range of complicated emotions flicker across Tick’s face, and he doesn’t say anything for a moment. _Is he going to yell at me or leave?_

“To spar.” Missy raises an eyebrow and looks around the empty training room. It’s dinner and she was alone before Tick showed up. _Just the way I planned it._ But she shrugs and gestures to a mat.

“Fine.” The two take up positions across from each other and circle warily. It’s been a while since Missy’s sparred with another trooper, and as the fight goes on it’s obvious she’s out of shape. The session is over barely four minutes after it starts, when Tick sweeps her legs and pins her with a boot to the chest plate. He offers her a hand up but she ignores it, instead turning and walking towards the exit. “Come back!” Missy turns and glares at him, picking up her helmet and shoving it under the arm.

“And what? Talk to you about missing my sisters and other brothers? We’re supposed to be strong. We’re supposed to be warriors. Warriors don’t _have_ feelings.” Tick crosses his arms.

“I’m your CO.” 

“So are you making that an order?” The captain sighs. His eye twitches, as it often does.

“I don’t want to.” She plunks the bucket back on her head.

“Then don’t!” It’s a good thing she’s gotten a helmet on because the sadness on her face as she storms from the room is very unwarriorlike. She’s drawn from her reflections by a beeping of her comm-cuff, which she answers immediately, thankful for the distraction.

* * *

“We’re going to hell.” Nibs tells him, curled up under Lin’s arm in the blessed privacy of his quarters. He kisses her on the forehead

“There is no hell.” She rolls her eyes. “Besides, what’s so wrong about this? We’re two people helping each other out.” 

“‘Helping each other out’?” Lin gives a short laugh.

“Call it what you want. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.” Nibs groans.

“Stars, that sounds like a line out of one of Sap’s trashy holonovels.” Lin raises an eyebrow.

“I thought Sap was the one who liked plants?” Now it’s Nib’s turn to laugh.

“It’s possible to have more than one hobby.” 

“See, I’m glad we agree. One of my hobbies is being a Jedi and the other is hanging out with a fellow thought traitor like you!” Nibs slaps him, and he gives an exaggerated ‘oof’. Then a noise breaks in her consciousness. Her comm’s going off. She squirms out of Lin’s grip and sits up on his narrow bunk. “Can’t it wait?”

“Habit.” Her armor sits in a neat stack on the small table in the corner. She picks up her cuff, but before she can answer the call Lin calls out “Wait!” She raises an eyebrow and turns to face him.

“What?” Lin shakes his head and sits up.

“Nothing. I just... got this feeling...” he trails off and looks at the still-beeping comm suspiciously. Nibs shrugs and presses the accept button. In the split second while her thoughts are still her own, while she is still in control but knows what will happen next, she regrets it. Deeply.

* * *

Oh-One grins at Sawbee from across the med-bay. Patching up their general feels like something of an honor. He winks, then turns back to a clone sitting on the bed in front of him. Luckily the skirmish wasn’t too bad, the worst injury a missing finger shot off by a B1. 

“I’m going to clean this and bandage it. How bad’s the pain?” General Kinall winces as her anti-bacterial wipe swipes his wound’s surface.

“I’ve had worse.” Oh-One’s trying to determine if he’ll need hypos or not, not just making idle chatter. He probably doesn’t want anything, anyway. People who say they're not hurt usually play the ‘I don’t need painkillers’ game. She doesn’t really have enough at their disposal to waste them on might-need cases. The med-center’s comm goes off. A shinie medic goes over to answer it, and she feels a little glimmer of pride at not being the default gopher anymore.

The general winces suddenly, and Oh-One pulls the bacta patch she was about to apply away. Maybe he _does_ need hypos, after all.

“I’m going to give you something-” General Kinall shakes his head.

“No! It’s not that!” He leaps to his feet. Oh-One puts a hand on his uninjured shoulder. 

“Easy! You’re hurt, and you’ll get out of here faster if you let me-” 

“It’s not my shoulder!” He sinks back down to the bed anyway, defeated. “I don’t understand...” his voice drops to a hoarse whisper, no longer adressing Oh-One. “They’re dying. They’re all dying. Why?” There’s a tap on the back of Oh-One’s leg. T4-B3 is butting up against her. 

“What is it, Tee-four?” Before the little astromech can answer, a pair of troopers in full armor march into the bay. Oh-One shoots Sawbee a questioning glance. His face is oddly blank, and he walks towards her slowly, almost as if leading the troopers. She recognizes the markings on their armor. “Sawbs? Jeebs? Talon?” General Kinall watches them approach and he gets to his feet slowly. 

“Where’s your comm, Oh-One?” It _is_ Jeebs behind that helmet, then. Oh-One reaches behind her and feels around on the tray bolted to T4, coming up with a sonic scalpel. Something is going horribly wrong.

“I don’t wear my gauntlets when I’m in the medbay. That’s Sawbee’s rule, and you know it.” Sawbee blinks at her.

“You need to check the message. It’s important.” The words have been spoken in her friends’s voices, but they aren’t there. A sick feeling, part of a half-remembered dream of terror, is slowly washing over her. A tiny inkling is prickling at the back of her mind, but she’s afraid to touch it lest it wash over her and flatten her mind.

“We have our orders, Oh-One. Step away from the general.” _Not that_. The inkling bursts and spreads around her mind, terrifying and full of pain. She tries to swim against the tide, the tide that threatens to rush over her entire person and leave her drowning in the river. The scalpel buzzes to life in her hand and is half-way up before she realizes she has no idea who she should aim it at. The general or the troopers?

“I’ll do it!” she snaps, turning towards General Kinall. He looks up at her with dull eyes. “We’re going to kill you.” She whispers, drawing closer, “Run!” And then there’s no Oh-One, just a hand moving towards a throat that it will never reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Putting this one out early. Hope you enjoyed!


	13. Page 13 [ABRIDGED]

You’ve reached page 13 of your search results. That’s pretty good, for a human. Unfortunately, most of the information you’re trying to access on this page is not public record. However, if you’d like to click [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27111337)1, I can’t promise that you won’t find some of it. The filtered search results are available below.

* * *

EXCERPT FROM **[REDACTED]**

_Note from the Archivist: This is the final page from the text known as **[REDACTED]** , otherwise referred to by **[REDACTED]** as **[REDACTED]**. Unfortunately for **[REDACTED]** , **[REDACTED]**. ~~I’ve heard that they never quite managed to scrape their viscera from the chamber~~. Which is truly a shame because **[REDACTED]**. Still, that’s what you get when you mess with the Empire. It is a rather impressive feat, though. How many people can say they’ve **[REDACTED]** the **[REDACTED]**?_

> They’re behind the door, and I know it won’t be long now. I truly hope that this manages to reach someone, anyone. Listen to me, and listen closely. If you take nothing else away from this little book of mine, let it be this: The Jedi were **[REDACTED]**. We never were, and for the rest of this extremely short life, I won’t be. There is no death, there is the Force.

* * *

_This result has been deleted. Please ask an archivist droid for assistance in its retrieval._

* * *

_This result has been deleted. Please ask an archivist droid for assistance in its retrieval._

* * *

_This result has been deleted. Please ask an archivist droid for assistance in its retrieval._

* * *

_1\. Link not actually broken? I’m impressed._

_13/13_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys. I really hope you enjoyed reading and if you’ve made it all the way through, I commend you for investing yourself in my meager plot. This was a good run, and while writing it was fun, I’m glad to have the opportunity to turn my attention to other projects. Thank you for reading!


End file.
